GIFT  OF 


AMERICAN   LITERATURE 


STAIRWAY  IN  THE  BOSTON  PUBLIC  LIBRARY. 

Decorative  Paintings  by  Puvis  de  Chavannes,  representing 

Pastoral,  Dramatic,  and  Epic  Poetry. 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


BY 

ROY    BENNETT    PACE 

ASSISTANT    PROFESSOR    OF    ENGLISH 
SWARTHMOKE    COLLEGE 


ALLYN   AND   BACON 

Boston  Nefo  gorfc 


COPYRIGHT,    1915,  BY 
ROY  BENNETT  PACE 


DAAN 


J.  8.  Gushing  Co.  —Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


Go  • 

WILLIAM  ALLEN  WILBUR 

SCHOLAR  TEACHER  ' 

FRIEND 


459969 


PREFACE 

THIS  book  is  the  outcome  of  personal  experience  with 
the  problem  of  teaching  literature  to  young  people.  Use 
fulness  has  been  the  first  thing  sought,  and  it  is  this  that 
has  determined  the  chief  features  of  the  book. 

Only  those  writers  have  been  treated  whose  works  the 
students  may  reasonably  be  expected  to  read.  It  is  not 
the  mission  of  a  history  of  literature  for  schools  to  furnish 
a  complete  encyclopedia  of  names. 

There  has  been  no  attempt  to  give  detailed  treatment  of 
recent  writers,  with  whom  the  magazines  have  made  most 
pupils  familiar.  A  fair  judgment  cannot  as  yet  be  passed 
on  their  work,  and  time  for  consideration  of  them  cannot 
well  be  spared  from  the  earlier  writers,  who  are  the  first 
object  of  our  study. 

Nowhere  in  the  book  has  simplicity  been  sacrificed  for  the 
sake  of  literary  effect.  Too  often  the  author  of  a  text-book 
has  spoiled  an  otherwise  good  chapter  by  a  few  flights  of 
fancy  or  a  clever  analogy  quite  beyond  the  student's  obser 
vation  and  experience. 

In  the  matter  of  proportion  this  book  differs  from  most 
in  the  space  given  to  Southern  literature.  The  position 
that  should  be  taken  on  both  sides  of  Mason  and  Dixon's 
line  is  admirably  expressed  by  Professor  Wendell:  "As 
our  new  patriotism  strengthens,  we  cannot  prize  too  highly 
such  verses  as  Whittier's,  honestly  phrasing  noble  Northern 
sentiment,  or  as  Timrod's,  who  with  equal  honesty  phrased 
the  noble 'sentiment  of  the  South." 


vi  PREFACE 

No  pains  have  been  spared  to  equip  the  book  with  useful 
and  attractive  illustrations.  "Whoever  would  understand 
a  poet,"  says  the  proverb,  "  must  pay  a  visit  to  the  poet's 
country."  It  is  hoped  that  the  homes  and  haunts,  the 
manuscripts  and  title-pages,  the  portraits,  tombs,  and  monu 
ments  reproduced  here  will  help  the  pupil  to  pay  such  visits 
in  imagination,  and  will  enliven  and  increase  his  interest  in 
the  men  and  their  works. 

To  the  many  friends  who  have  aided  by  criticism  and 
suggestion  the  author  here  records  his  indebtedness  and 
gratitude.  Though  he  alone  is  responsible  for  the  form 
which  the  book  finally  takes,  that  form  is  due  in  no  small 
degree  to  kindly  consideration  given  by  those  with  other 
and  better  points  of  view. 


ROY   BENNETT   PACE. 


SWARTHMORE    COLLEGE,    PENNSYLVANIA, 

January  1,  1915. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PREFACE       .      ...     .  •.,    '  .'       .        »         .        .        .  .         v 

INTRODUCTION        .         .         ...         .         .         .         .         .    *     1 

Chapter  I.     From  John  Smith  to  Benjamin  Franklin  .        .        .  5-28 
Historians  —  Smith  and  Strachey,  Bradford  and  Winthrop  .        5 
Colonial  Verse  —  Bay  Psalm  Book,  Wigglesworth,  Bradstreet       12 
Theologians  —  Mather,  Edwards    .        .        .        .        .        .       17 

Education       .         .        .         .        ...        .         .         .23 

Periodical  Literature .         .27 

Chapter  II.     From  Franklin  to  Washington  Irving     .        .         29-68 
Benjamin  Franklin         .         .        .        .         .        .         .         .31 

The  Orators  —  Otis,  Henry     .        .".•-..        .         .       41 

Other  Literary  Statesmen  —  Paine,  Washington,  Jefferson, 

Hamilton       .'•»        .    ;    „        .        .        .         .       . .  <  45 

Patriotic  and  Satiric  Poets —  Hopkinson,  Freneau,  The  Hart 
ford  Wits         .         .         .        .....        .        .54 

John  Woolman       .  ...         .        .         .        .62 

Thomas  Godfrey,  Dramatist  .    .    .        .        .        .        .         .63 

Charles  Brockden  Brown,  Novelist        .         .        .         .         .65 

Chapter  III.    From  Irving  to  the  End  of  the  Civil  War  .  69-184 

Washington  Irving ,  .  .71 

William  Cullen  Bryant  .        ...        .  .81 

James  Fenirnore  Cooper         .         .  "      .        .        •  .  .       92 

Drake  and  Halleck         .         .         ;        .         .         .  .  .     102 

Edgar  Allan  Poe    .        .        .        .        .-       .        .  :  .  •.     104 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne 119 

The  Literature  of  Slavery  and  Disunion         ...  .  .130 

Daniel  Webster .-  .  .     132 

Abraham  Lincoln  .        .         .        .         ...  .  .     136 

John  C.  Calhoun .  .  .141 

Timrod  and  Hayne         .         .         .         .        .         .  .  .     145 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

History  Writing  in  America  ...  .  '  .        .  154 

John  Lothrop  Motley     .        .         .     "  .  .  .         .        .  156 

The  Transcendental  Movement      .         .  .  ...  158 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  .    /  .        .     "    .  .  ....  162 

Henry  David  Thoreau    .         .        «        .  .  .       . .        .  176 

Chapter  IV.    From  the  Civil  War  to  the  Deaths  of  Whittier 

and  Whitman ...        .        .        .        .        .        .      185-260 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow       .        .         .        .•'.'.     186 

'  James  Russell  Lowell     .         .        .         .        .  .         .     200 

Sidney  Lanier         .        .        .   .  _  ,        .        .        .        .         .     214 

Henry  Woodfin  Grady    .  .....     223 

George  William  Curtis t .         .        .227 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier        .         ...         .         .        .234 

Walt  Whitman       .        .        .        .         .         .  >      .         .         .     244 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes          .        .        .         .....         .251 

CONCLUSION  .         .         .         .        .        .        .        .        »        .         .     261 

SUPPLEMENTARY  LIST  OP  AUTHORS      .  .         .         .         .     263 

SELECTED  LIST  OF  BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CRITICAL  WORKS  .     270 

INDEX  273 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


INTRODUCTION 

THIS  book  aims  to  trace  briefly  the  rise  and  growth  of 
literature  in  America.  The  word  literature  is  here  used  in 
its  broadest  sense  —  the  written  record  of  the  life  of  a 
people  or  nation.  Of  literature  in  its  more  restricted  sense 
—  "  writing  which  has  claim  to  consideration  on  the  ground 
of  beauty  of  form  or  emotional  effect "  —  the  first  two 
hundred  years  of  English  life  in  America  produced  only 
a  few  examples;  the  first  hundred  years  scarcely  one. 
During  this  time,  however,  there  were  produced  many 
pieces  of  writing  an  acquaintance  with  which  is  essential 
to  an  understanding  of  the  life  of  our  forefathers,  and 
which  throw  not  a  little  light  on  genuine  literary  pro 
ductions  of  the  later  period. 

It  is  only  three  centuries  since  the  first  permanent  Eng 
lish  colony  was  planted  on  the  shores  of  the  James.  That 
little  band  of  settlers  found  a  vast  expanse  of  country  over 
which  roamed  at  will  savage  tribes  of  red  men.  Their  only 
writings  consisted  of  hieroglyphics  scratched  rudely  on 
bark  or  stone  for  the  purpose  of  conveying  information 
of  passing  interest.  So  far  as  is  known  they  had  not  a 
single  permanent  record  of  any  kind.  The  only  literature, 
therefore,  that  can  be  called  American  is  that  produced  by 
the  European  settlers  of  America,  and  we  are  interested  in 
only  so  much  of  that  as  was  produced  in  the  thirteen  Eng 
lish  colonies  and  their  outgrowth,  the  United  States.  To 

1 


2  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

this  literature  by  common  consent  the  name  American  has 
been  limited. 

England  at  the  time  of  the  dawn  of  American  literature 
was  enjoying  a  period  of  great  prosperity  and  influence, 
thanks  to  the  genius  and  wisdom  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  who 
had  lived  till  four  years  before  the  landing  at  Jamestown. 
James  I,  as  king  of  England  and  Scotland,  hafl  united  the 
crowns  of  the  two  countries.  He  was  encouraging  the 
expansion  of  British  trade  and  the  extension  of  the  British 
domain  by  subsidizing  exploration,  and  by  granting  royal 
patents  to  his  noble  friends  for  the  colonizing  of  America. 

Englishmen  of  this  happy  period  possessed  a  rich  heritage 
of  literature,  including  the  works 'of  Chaucer,  Malory,  Spen 
ser,  and  Marlowe.  They  were  enjoying  the  companionship 
of  such  immortals  as  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  Ben  Jonson, 
Bacon,  and  Shakspere.  Under  the  direction  of  the  authors 
themselves  they  saw  acted  those  great  dramas  that  will  be 
the  delight  and  inspiration  of  millions  so  long  as  the 
English  language  shall  exist. 

When  our  forefathers  sailed  away  from  the  shores  of 
England  to  Virginia  and  to  Massachusetts,  they  carried 
with  them,  as  Englishmen,  an  interest  in  this  priceless 
heritage.  As  we  trace  the  growth  of  literature  in  America 
we  shall  observe  that  the  literary  dependence  of  America  on 
England  gradually  became  less  in  the  same  way  and  for 
much  the  same  reason  as  did  the  political  dependence.  As 
America  became  settled  and  her  men  and  women  found  time 
for  self-culture  and  contemplation,  she  became  less  de 
pendent  on  the  mother  country  for  literary  inspiration  ;  and 
with  nationality  came  literature  in  its  more  restricted  sense, 
a  literature  permeated  with  the  freshness  and  the  vigor  of 
the  land  that  gave  it  birth. 

While  no  division  of  American  literature  into  periods  can 
be  entirely  satisfactory,  it  will  be  convenient  to  recognize 


INTRODUCTION  3 

four  up  to  the  year  1892  —  the  year  chosen  as  the  limit  of 
this  survey.     These  are  : 

1.  From  John  Smith  to  Benjamin  Franklin  (1608-1758). 

2.  From  Benjamin  Franklin  to  Washington  Irving  (1758- 
1809). 

3.  From  Washington  Irving  to  the  end  of  the  Civil  War 
(1809-1865). 

4.  From  the  end  of  the  Civil  War  to  the  deaths  of  Walt 
Whitman  and  John  G.  Whittier  (1865-1892). 


artthc  Lne&  tatew  tf~aG6',lut  ttio/l 
diy  GrOC&  antLCflorytbrykter  he  : 
CI%y  J?airt-3>tfcoiurits  arul  jrewfe-  Overthrown 

Cf  Salvages,much,  Cwitfa'J,  ty 

cftjhew  *fy  &pirit;arul  to  it  Glory 
S&jkotL  art  J5raf?c  without,  but  £otaC 


JOHN  SMITH,  "  ADMIRAL  OF  NEW  ENGLAND." 


CHAPTER   I 
FROM  JOHN  SMITH  TO  BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN 

AMERICAN  literature  had  a  beginning  very  different  from 
that  of  most  nations.  Most  literatures  began  before  the 
language  in  which  they  were  subsequently  written  had  a 
definite  form.  They  began  in  verse,  usually  in  the  songs  of 
bards  who  celebrated  the  heroic  deeds  of  individuals  and  of 
tribes.  They  expressed  the  emotions,  beliefs,  aspirations, 
of  a  society  more  or  less  primitive,  a  civilization  but  slightly 
developed.  Our  knowledge  of  these  beginnings  rests  on  a 
long  period  of  oral  transmission. 

Quite  in  contrast  to  such  conditions,  the  author  of  the 
first  book  written  on  American  soil  knew  that  his  work 
could  be  manifolded  by  the  printing  press  within  a  few 
months  of  its  completion.  His  language  was  the  language 
of  one  of  the  world's  great  literatures,  even  then  at  its 
highest  achievement.  Furthermore,  it  was  the  language  of 
a  civilization  second  to  none,  of  a  nation  acknowledging  no 
superior  in  intellectual  or  physical  accomplishment.  It 
looked  back  nine  centuries  to  a  great  epic  poem,  Beowulf ; 
two  centuries  to  Chaucer,  a  poet  whose  breadth  of  view 
made  him  a  world  figure ;  and  a  few  decades  to  the  defeat 
of  the  Spanish  Armada,  a  victory  that  showed  the  men  who 
spoke  the  language  to  be  truly  great  spirits. 

John  Smith  (1580-1631). —  The  author  of  this  first  book 
was  John  Smith,  whose  writings  belong  to  history  rather 
than  to  literature,  and  to  England  rather  than  to  America, 
but  who  cannot  be  omitted  from  a  sketch  like  the  present. 
Born  in  Lincolnshire,  England,  in  1580,  he  had  from  the 

5 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


age  of  sixteen  been  an  adventurer,  traveling  in  various 
parts  of  Europe  and  in  Northern  Africa,  fighting  in  various 
armies  and  causes,  and  gathering  an  interesting  lot  of 
experiences.  His  love  of  adventure  persuaded  him  to  join 
the  party  just  setting  out  to  colonize  Virginia  in  1607,  and 
soon  after  reaching  Jamestown  he  was  named  a  member  of 
the  Council,  or  governing  board.  In  this  position  Smith 

showed  such  ability  that 
in  September,  1608,  he 
was  made  president  of 
the  body ;  and  it  was 
chiefly  to  his  wise  and 
vigorous,  if  sometimes 
unscrupulous,  methods 
that  the  successful  estab 
lishment  of  the  Virginia 
colony  was  due. 

Only  one  of  Smith's 
numerous  books  comes 
within  the  scope  of  this 
work.  Its  full  title, 
which  in  its  length  is 
characteristic  of  the 
time,  is :  A  True  Rela 
tion  of  such  occurrences 
and  accidents  of  noate  as  hath  hapned  in  Virginia  since 
the  first  planting  of  that  Cottony,  ivhich  is  now  resident 
in  the  South  part  thereof,  till  the  last  returns  from  thence. 
Written  by  Captaine  Smith  Coronell  of  the  said  Cottony,  to  a 
worshipfull  friend  of  his  in  England.  The  author  lays  no 
claim  to  style,  and  even  the  construction  of  his  sentences 
is  often  such  as  would  shame  a  high  school  boy  of  to-day. 
But  his  narrative  possesses  in  no  small  degree  the  merits  of 
simplicity,  directness,  and  vividness,  and  gives  many  inter- 


STATUE  AT  JAMESTOWN   OF    SMITH, 
"GOVERNOR  OF  VIRGINIA." 


T  R  v E  KB: 

lation  of  fuch  occur 
rences  and  accidents  of  noateas 

haih  bapiK  d  in  Virginia  fincc  the  firft 
piannng  chhat  Collony .  v.b;chisnow 
ufidtnt  in  the  Soiub  par(thercof,tiil 
ihelaft  return  (Sjliom 
t:  encc. 

iind  ol  his  in  England, 


L"0 

are  to  bee  (oldc  at  ch:  Grcy= 

hound  in  pVulrs- Ciwch -ya:d,  b)  ^ V'> 
l  6  Q  8 


FACSIMILE  TITLE-PAGE  OF  SMITH'S  A  True  Relation,  FIRST  EDITION. 
(Courtesy  of  New  York  Public  Library.) 


8  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

esting  details  of  the  life  of  the  natives  and  his  experiences 
with  them.  His  reason  for  writing  he  gives  in  these  words : 
"  Many  of  the  most  eminent  warriors  what  their  swords 
did,  their  pens  writ.  Though  I  be  never  so  much  their 
inferior,  yet  I  hold  it  no  great  error  to  follow  good  exam 
ples."  It  should  be  remarked,  however,  that  some  modern 
scholars  question  the  accuracy  of  much  Smith  wrote.  The 
Pocahontas  incident,  for  example,  which  Smith  told  in  two 
ways,  is  by  many  considered  a  choice  bit  of  fiction. 

Still,  after  making  due  allowances  for  boasting  and  for 
unintentional  exaggeration,  the  True  Relation  is  conceded 
to  be  in  the  main  a  trustworthy  account;  and  as  the  first 
written  record  of  the  first  permanent  English  colony  in 
America,  it  deserves  a  place  of  honor  in  our  literature  as 
well  as  in  our  history. 

William  Strachey.  —  Of  several  other  historians  of  the 
Southern  colony  William  Strachey  is  perhaps  the  most  nota 
ble.  Almost  nothing  is  known  of  his  life,  but  his  selection 
as  secretary  of  the  colony  indicates  that  he  had  enjoyed 
educational  advantages.  Strachey's  History  of  Travaile  into 
Virginia  Britannia,  written  after  his  return  to  England,  is 
said  to  be  "  the  most  reliable  single  narrative  of  events  dur 
ing  the  period  of  Virginia  history  with  which  he  deals." l 
Our  interest  in  the  man,  however,  arises  not  from  his  im 
portance  as  an  historian,  but  from  the  fact  that  one  work  of 
his  is  by  some  believed  to  have  given  a  hint  to  Shakspere. 
This  work  is  entitled  :  A  True  Reportory  of  the  Wrack  and 
Redemption  of  Sir  Thomas  Gates,  Kt ,  upon  and  from  the 
Islands  of  the  Bermudas ;  his  Coming  to  Virginia;  and  the 
Estate  of  that  Colony  then  and  after  under  the  Government  of 
Lord  La  Ware.  (Compare,  for  length,  Smith's  title  above.) 
In  it  occurs  a  powerful  description  of  a  storm  encountered 
by  a  fleet  of  English  vessels  bound  for  Virginia.  It  is  said 

1  New  International  Encyclopedia. 


EARLY  LITERARY  WORK 


that  Shakspere  had  this  description  before  him  when  he 
wrote  The  Tempest.1 

While  Strachey  is  forceful  and  vivid,  far  more  so  than 
Smith  ever  could  have  been,  it  seems  rather  an  exaggeration 
to  say,  even  of  the  tem 
pest  passage,  as  does 
Tyler,  that  "  it  has  some 
sentences  which  for  im 
aginative  and  pathetic 
beauty  .  .  .  can  hardly 
be  surpassed  in  the  whole 
range  of  English  prose." 

Early  Literary  Work  in 
North  and  South.  —  Writ 
ings  of  perhaps  a  dozen 
Southern  colonists  before 
1700  have  come  down  to 
us,  while  from  New  Eng 
land  during  that  time  we 
have  three  or  four  times 
as  many.  The  explana 
tion  of  this  difference  is 
not  difficult.  Virginia 
was  colonized  at  first 

largely   by   adventurers 

RUINS  OF  JAMESTOWN  CHURCH. 

and  speculators  —  men  Now  cared  for  by  the  Association  for  the 
who  came  in  hope  of  gain  Preservation  of  Virginia  Antiquities,  which 
for  themselves  and  for  owns  the  island' 

the  noble  gentlemen  in  England  who  financed  the  expedi 
tions.2  They  had  no  thought  of  settling  permanently,  and 

1  For  a  full  statement  of  the  question,  with  what  seems  to  us  a  fair  con 
clusion,  see  The  Tempest,  Furness's  Variorum  Ed.,  page  312. 

2  Beginning  about  forty  years  after  Jamestown,  a  much  better  class 
of  immigrants  arrived,  men  of  good  birth  and  education  who  sought 


10  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

many  of  them  —  including  Smith  and  Strachey  —  did  remain 
only  a  few  years.  They  had  little  interest  in  literature, 
and  no  ambition  to  enroll  themselves  in  the  register  of 
literary  fame.  Their  published  "  works  "  are  hardly  more 
than  elaborate  official  reports,  containing  such  information 
about  the  country  and  its  inhabitants  and  the  experience 
of  the  colony  as  the  patentees  at  home  might  reasonably 
expect.  Lastly,  lack  of  educational  facilities  —  or  we  may 
say  more  truly,  the  presence  of  educational  restrictions  — 
necessarily  prevented  those  who  became  permanent  resi 
dents  from  being  equipped  for  literary  work. 

The  settlers  of  New  England,  on  the  contrary,  came  to 
escape  persecution,  to  found  a  new  home  for  themselves.  If 
not  interested  in  literature  for  its  own  sake,  they  realized 
the  value  of  clear,  forceful  writing  for  controversial  pur 
poses.  Even  the  narrative  writers  of  New  England  wrote 
with  a  very  different  purpose  from  that  of  the  Southerners. 
Although  often  forced  by  pressure  of  more  immediate  con 
siderations  to  make  their  chronicles  brief,  they  prepared 
them  with  much  care,  not  for  the  present  but  for  the  future. 
This  is  sufficiently  shown  by  the  fact  that  the  first  two  his 
torians,  Bradford  and  Winthrop,  did  not  publish,  but  at 
their  deaths  left  their  works  in  manuscript.  Another  point 
to  be  noted  is  that  public  schools  were  early  provided  in 
Massachusetts  (1636),  and  a  very  generally  educated  citizen 
ship  resulted. 

William  Bradford  (1590-1657).  —  The  first  work  written 
in  New  England  was  William  Bradford's  History  of  Ply 
mouth  Plantation.  In  its  original  and  complete  form  it  was 
not  printed  until  1855 ;  but  it  was  the  chief  source  of  several 
historical  works  published  in  Massachusetts  from  1669  down, 

refuge  from  the  repressive  rule  of  Cromwell.  It  is  from  the  "  Cavaliers  " 
who  came  over  in  the  half  ceutury  following  1G50  that  many  of  the 
"First  Families  of  Virginia"  are  descended. 


JOHN  WINTHROP  11 

and  its  author  has  been  not  inaptly  called  the  "  Father  of 
American  History."  Bradford  was  born  in  Yorkshire  in 
1590,  and  landed  on  Plymouth  Rock  from  the  Mayflower. 
The  following  year  he  was  elected  governor,  and  was  re- 
elected  annually  until  his  death  in  1657,  with  the  exception 
of  a  few  years  when  by  his  own  wish  he  was  allowed  to  re 
tire.  His  History  covers  in  the  form  of  annals  the  period 
from  1620  to  1647.  It  cannot  be  said  to  have  greater  liter 
ary  merit  than  the  narratives  of  Smith  and  Strachey.  No 
where  does  it  approach  the  power  and  vividness  of  Strachey's 
tempest  passage ;  but  it  is  characterized  by  a  uniform  dig 
nity  and  sincerity  not  found  in  the  works  of  the  Southern 
chroniclers.  As  might  be  expected,  it  has  a  religious  tone 
throughout,  as  had  every  expression  of  the  first  century  of 
New  England  life.  An  excellent  example  of  the  Puritan 
attitude  toward  amusements,  as  well  as  of  Bradford's  general 
style,  may  be  found  in  his  account  of  Morton's  settlement 
at  "  Ma-re  Mount  "  —  a  passage  which  has  additional  inter 
est  because  of  having  formed  the  basis  of  one  of  Haw 
thorne's  tales.1 

John  Winthrop  (1588-1649).  —  Hardly  less  important  than 
Bradford  is  John  Winthrop,  the  first  governor  of  the  Mas 
sachusetts  Colony.  Appointed  to  that  position  by  the  Com 
pany,  he  led  the  band  of  colonists  that  landed  at  Salem  in 
June,  1630,  and  removed  in  September  to  Boston.  He  was 
repeatedly  (though  not  consecutively)  reappoiuted,  holding 
the  governorship  for  twelve  out  of  nineteen  years.  His  his 
tory,  published  under  the  ambitious  title  of  The  History  of 
New  England,  is  a  diary  recording  the  life  of  the  colony  to 
his  death.  He  is  quite  indiscriminate  in  noting  events, 
and  is  unintentionally  amusing  in  the  blunt  and  matter-of- 
fact  way  in  which  he  writes  of  them.  The  death  of  a  cow 
is  mentioned  without  comment,  as  is  that  of  his  son ;  the 

i  The  Maypole  of  Merry  Mount,  in  Twice  Told  Tales. 


12 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


execution  of  a  murderer,  the  meeting  of  court,  his  unex 
pectedly  filling  a  vacant  pulpit,  the  killing  of  six  calves  by 
wolves,  the  marriage  of  Captain  Endicott,  a  debate  in  church 
—  all  these  matters  are,  if  we  may  judge  by  the  space  and 
prominence  given  them,  of  equal  consequence  to  future 
times.  A  sense  of  proportion  cannot  be  included  in  the  long 

, _ .  list  of  merits  attributed 

to  him  by  his  admirers. 
The  book  is,  however, 
an  invaluable  record  of 
the  early  days  of  the 
Massachusetts  Colony, 
from  which  all  subse 
quent  historians  have 
drawn.  One  year  (1645) 
stands  out  conspicu 
ously  above  the  average, 
because  in  it  is  reported 
a  speech  of  Governor 
Winthrop  on  the  nature 
of  liberty,  delivered  in 
court  after  acquittal  of 
the  charge  of  exceeding 
his  authority.  Of  this 
speech  a  distinguished  statesman  said,  "  It  is  the  best  defini 
tion  of  liberty  in  the  English  language." 

The  Bay  Psalm  Book.  —  Since  there  was  produced  almost, 
if  not  absolutely,  no  real  poetry  in  colonial  New  England,  it 
is  on  first  thought  remarkable  that  the  first  book  printed 
there  was  a  book  of  verse.  The  fact,  however,  becomes  less 
striking  when  we  discover  that  this  production  was  The 
Bay  Psalm  Book,  the  work  of  several  clergymen,  of  whom 
the  most  important  were  John  Eliot  (1604-1690)  and  Richard 
Mather  (1596-1669).  The  extremest  enthusiast  for  our  early 


JOHN  WINTHROP. 


yhep!^^ei,5^^^^^l! 

'3U-X v«*p /^f^sr* **'£"*"''  fT^f** **£**'**' /*/"a"H*^2r^~  /"' -A"*  ^f11^ '    2r**  ii^    ?    "vf  .»\ 


.  WHOLE 

BOOKEOFPSALMBS 


TRANSLATED   i«r<»    ENGLISH 

t) 

J  Wricreunto is  prefixed  a  difcourfe  de- 
oclaring  not  only  the  lawfullnes,  bucalfc 
)  the  neccffity  of  the  heavenly  Ordinance 
J      of  fingbg  scripture  Pialmss  in 
>  the  Churches  of 


you ,  i»  4//  tvifd»met  teaching  And  exhort-   r  J 
intr  one  another  in  ^faft»es9rf$mnet,t  and 


r-4pTi 

'p?r«> 

V, 


f: 


FACSIMILE  TITLE-PAGE  OF  2'/ie  Bay  Psalm  Book. 
(New  York  Public  Library.) 


14  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

literature  would  not  call  these  versified  psalms  poetry.  The 
authors  did  not,  indeed,  aim  to  make  poetry;  they  aimed 
merely  to  produce  a  hymn  book  which  should  render  faith 
fully  "  David's  poetry  into  English  metre."  The  most  that 
can  be  said  for  the  forms  of  the  Psalms  here  is  that  they 
are  generally  not  much  worse  than  Milton's  juvenile  per 
formances  in  the  same  field.  "  Everywhere  in  the  book  is 
manifested  the  agony  it  cost  the  writers  to  find  two  words 
that  would  rhyme  —  more  or  less  ;  and  so  often  as  this  ar 
duous  feat  is  achieved,  the  poetic  athlete  appears  to  pause 
a  while  from  sheer  exhaustion,  panting  heavily  for  breath." 

Apart  from  their  connection  with  this  work  Eliot  and 
Mather  are  worthy  of  further  mention.  The  former  gave 
his  life  to  christianizing  the  natives,  and  is  generally  known 
as  the  "  Apostle  to  the  Indians."  He  translated  into  their 
language  not  only  the  entire  Bible,  but  the  Catechism,  Bax 
ter's  Call  to  the  Unconverted,  and  Thomas  Shepard's  The 
Sincere  Convert.  Richard  Mather  shines  rather  by  reflected 
light  than  by  any  luster  of  his  own.  He  was  the  founder 
of  the  "  Mather  Dynasty,"  which  included  ten  clergymen, 
and  which  in  the  second  generation  produced  Increase 
Mather,  a  president  of  Harvard  College,  and  in  the  third, 
Cotton  Mather,  of  whom  we  shall  hear  later. 

Michael  Wigglesworth  (1631-1705).  —  Besides  The  Bat/ 
Psalm  Book  the  writings  of  two  other  seventeenth  century 
verse  makers  should  be  noticed.  Michael  Wigglesworth  was 
a  clergyman,  a  physician,  and  a  versifier.  Of  his  worth  in 
the  first  and  third  of  these  capacities  a  good  impression 
may  be  got  from  his  most  famous  production,  entitled  The 
Day  of  Doom,  or,  A  Poetical  Description  of  the  Great  and 
Last  Judgment.  In  this  all  mankind  are  brought  before  the 
Creator  to  hear  his  judgment  upon  them  for  eternity.  The 
"  sheep,"  few  in  number,  are  quickly  assigned  to  their  happy 
places ;  the  rest  of  the  poem  (over  1500  lines)  is  taken  up 


ANNE  BRADSTREET  15 

with  the  pleas  of  the  "  goats  "  and  their  condemnation  bj> 
the  Judge.  Its  vivid  pictures  of  a  future  punishment  of 
fire  and  brimstone  are  interesting  as  a  concrete  expression 
of  the  general  religious  conviction  of  the  author's  time.  In 
what  is  perhaps  the  most  striking  passage  in  the  poem  the 
Judge  allows  to  the  infants  who  may  not  dwell  in  bliss 
"  the  easiest  room  in  hell."  As  we  read  the  work  to-day, 
we  find  it  hard  to  realize  how  it  could  have  been  popular, 
even  among  such  religious  zealots  as  the  Puritans  of  New 
England.  It  is  said  that  the  first  edition  of  1800  copies 
was  sold  in  New  England  within  twelve  months  of  its  pub 
lication  (1662),  which  means  one  copy  to  every  thirty-five 
people  then  living  there ;  arid  that  the  poem  was  memorized 
by  children  along  with  the  Catechism. 

Anne  Bradstreet  (1612-1672).  —  The  position  of  Anne 
Bradstreet  in  this  period  is  unique :  she  was  the  only  per 
son  who  wrote  verse  for  its  own  sake.  Like  all  the  authors 
so  far  mentioned,  Mrs.  Bradstreet  was  born  in  England. 
She  married  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  and  emigrated  with  her 
husband  two  years  later.  A  delicate  woman,  mother  of 
eight  children,  hard-working  wife  of  a  hard-working  New 
England  farmer,  she  wrote  enough  in  prose  and  verse  to  fill 
a  volume  of  400  pages  —  most  of  it  before  she  was  thirty. 
The  volume,  published  in  London  in  1650,  was  burdened 
with  one  of  those  long-drawn-out1  titles  characteristic  of  the 
time.  It  reads :  The  Tenth  Muse  Lately  sprung  up  in  Amer 
ica;  or,  Several  Poems,  compiled  ivith  great  variety  of  Wit  and 
Learning,  fall  of  delight ;  wherein  is  especially  contained  a 
complete  discourse  and  description  of  the  four  elements,  consti 
tutions,  ages  of  man,  seasons  of  the  year ;  together  with  an 
exact  epitome  of  the  four  monarchies,  viz.,  the  Assyrian,  Per 
sian,  Grecian,  Roman;  also,  a  dialogue  between  Old  England 
and  Netv  concerning  the  late  troubles;  with  divers  other  pleas 
ant  and  serious  poems.  By  a  Gentlewoman  in  those  parts. 


16 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


It  must  be  admitted  that  much,  in  Mrs.  Bradstreet's  verse 
does  not  rise  above  that  of  Wigglesworth  or  The  Bay  Psalm 
Book.  On  the  other  hand  she  at  times  reaches  a  height  al 
together  beyond  that  of  any  of  her  contemporaries.  Though 
usually  faulty  in  execution,  her  best  passages  show  unques 
tionable  poetic  insight,  and  a  genuine  poetic  approach  to 


OLD  BRADSTREET  HOUSE. 
North  Andover,  Massachusetts. 

nature.  A  good  specimen  of  this  may  be  seen  in  the  stanza 
of  Contemplations  in  praise  of  the  grasshopper  and  the  cricket. 
Though  much  of  her  poetry  has  the  characteristic  religious 
tone,  Mrs.  Bradstreet  is  distinguished  from  other  New  Eng 
land  verse  writers  by  the  fact  that  it  was  never  her  purpose  to 
inculcate  doctrine.  The  mere  pleasure  of  composition  seems 
to  have  been  her  greatest  spur.  Of  her  it  has  been  well  said 
that  she,  "  in  some  worthy  sense,  found  in  poetry  a  vocation." 


COTTON  MATHER 


17 


Of  the  host  of  theologians  who  gave  to  the  literature  of 
this  period  its  character,  two  stand  out  preeminent  —  Cotton 
Mather  and  Jonathan  Edwards.  Both  came  of  ministerial 
stock;  both  were  phenomenal  children;  both  distinguished 
themselves  in  their  own  calling  and  in  others ;  and  both 
exerted  great  influence  among  their  people. 

Cotton  Mather  (1663-1728).  —  Cotton  Mather  was  the  third 
and  the  greatest  of  the  "  Mather  Dynasty  "  already  referred 
to,  and  is  the  first  writer 
mentioned  in  this  book 
who  was  born  in  Amer 
ica.  His  father,  In 
crease,  and  both  his 
grandfathers,  Richard 
Mather  and  John  Cot 
ton,  were  ministers. 
From  childhood  he  was 
famed  for  his  learning 
and  piety ;  he  was 
graduated  from  Har 
vard  at  the  age  of  fif 
teen  ;  he  began  preach 
ing  at  seventeen.  He 
knew  Latin,  Greek, 
Hebrew,  French,  Span 
ish,  and  Algonquin  (an 
Indian  dialect)  ;  and  he 
published  books  in  most 
of  these  languages.  He  had  the  largest  private  library  in 
the  New  World,  and  was,  apparently,  acquainted  with  all  it 
contained.  He  was  a  tremendous  worker,  and  by  a  legend 
over  his"  study  door  invited  visitors  to  waste  no  words.  For 
forty  years  he  was  connected  with  the  North  Church  of 
Boston  as  assistant  pastor  (to  his  father)  and  as  pastor. 


GRAVE  OF  COTTON  MATHER. 
In  Copp's  Hill  Cemetery,  Boston. 


18  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

From  firm  conviction  he  became  a  leader  in  the  witchcraft 
persecution,  and  set  forth  the  grounds  of  his  conviction  in 
several  treatises. 

We  shall  notice  only  two  of  the  more  than  four  hundred 
works  written  by  Mather.  To  his  Essays  to  do  Good  Frank 
lin  attributed  much  of  his  own  usefulness  in  life,  a  sufficient 
evidence  that  it  possessed  real  merit  even  for  a  practical 
man.  Mather's  greatest  work,  and  in  many  respects  the 
greatest  of  colonial  America,  is  entitled:  Magnolia  Christi 
Americana  ;  or,  The  Ecclesiastical  History  of  Neiv  England 
from  its  First  Planting  in  the  year  1620,  unto  the  Year  of 
Our  Lord  1698.  "A  bulky  thing,"  Mather  appropriately 
called  it,  for  it  fills  over  one  thousand  pages.  A  miscella 
neous  thing  it  might  also  be  called  ;  for  it  contains  history 
of  the  colony,  history  of  Harvard  College,  biographies  of 
governors  and  of  ministers,  church  doctrine,  a  record  of 
church  squabbles,  and  a  collection  of  "remarkable  mercies 
and  judgements."  His  main  purpose  in  the  Magnolia  seems 
to  have  been  to  make  a  final  defense  of  the  old  order  —  of 
the  rigorous  Puritan  religion  which  was  already  fast  losing 
its.,  power,  and  of  the  immense  importance  of  the  clergy, 
who  were  beginning  to  find  much  of  their  power  assumed  by 
civil  officers.  By  this  book  he  became  more  famous  in 
Europe  for  his  learning  than  were  any  of  his  countrymen. 
It  is  a  storehouse  of  facts  regarding  the  life  of  the  people; 
but  as  history  it  is  not  so  dependable  as  are  the  writings  of 
Bradford  and  Winthrop. 

Mather  was  a  man  of  strong  prejudices,  and  his  learning 
was  ill-digested  and  ill-arranged.  His  great  book  is,  more 
over,  unattractive  to  our  day  by  reason  of  its  style,  which 
was  no  accident,  but  deliberately  cultivated  by  its  author. 
He  followed  what  is  known  as  the  "fantastic  "  school  of 
literature,  the  distinguishing  quality  of  which  is  a  boastful 
display  of  all  sorts  of  learning.  Scarcely  a  page  in  the 


COTTON  MATHER 


19 


OLD  NORTH  CHURCH,  BOSTON, 
In  the  tower  of  which  Paul  Revere's  lanterns  were  placed. 

Magnolia  but  is  burdened  with  unusual  phraseology  and 
figures  of  speech,  and  with  learned  allusions  to  books,  very 
frequently  in  foreign  languages.  The  " fantastic"  school 
had  already  had  its  day  in  Europe  j  with  Mather  it  may  be 
said  to  have  had  its  demise, 


20 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


With  Mather  passed  away  also  the  ascendency  of  the 
clergy.  His  son  Samuel,  who  succeeded  him  in  the  pastor 
ate  of  the  North  Church,  was  forced  by  disaffection  to  leave 
his  charge  and  form  a  new  organization  of  those  who  adhered 
to  him.  Edwards,  as  we  shall  see,  found  also  that  a  New 
England  congregation  would  no  longer  take  its  pastor's  word 
as  law,  but  would  discipline  him  just  as  he  would  discipline 

a  humble  member.  And 
this  changed  state  of 
things  lasted.  The  min 
istry  continued  to  be  in 
fluential  and  respected, 
but  never  again  occu 
pied  any  such  position 
of  power  as  it  had 
occupied  throughout  the 
seventeenth  century. 

Jonathan  Edwards 
(1703-1758).  —Jona 
than  Edwards  was  a 
theologian  of  the  same 
type  as  Mather,  but  a 
man  of  much  more 
trustworthy  knowledge. 
Like  Mather  also  he 
was  born  old  and  a 
preacher.  His  father  was  a  preacher,  as  was  his  maternal 
grandfather  ;  he  himself  married  at  the  age  of  twenty-three 
a  preacher's  daughter;  and  one  of  his  daughters  married 
a  preacher.  On  the  face  of  things  there  would  seem  to 
have  been  enough  religion  in  the  atmosphere  in  which  he 
lived,  and  the  effect  of  this  environment  appeared  early; 
for  when  about  ten  years  old,  he  set  apart  a  retreat  in  a 
near-by  swamp  for  secret  prayer. 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS. 


JONATHAN  EDWARDS 


21 


After  graduating  from  Yale  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  he 
studied  divinity  ;  and  a  few  years  later  became  a  colleague 
pastor  of  the  Northampton  church  under  his  grandfather, 
Mr.  Stoddard.  On  the  latter's  death  in  1729  Edwards 

became  pastor,   and  re-   , , 

mained  in  that  position 
twenty-one  years.  At 
the  end  of  that  time  a 
disagreement  arose  be 
tween  pastor  and  people, 
and  he  was  dismissed  by 
an  overwhelming  vote. 
He  refused  calls  to  Eng 
land,  to  Virginia,  and  to 
a  new  church  to  be  com 
posed  of  his  Northamp 
ton  adherents,  and  went 
as  missionary  to  the 
Indians  in  Stockbridge, 
Massachusetts.  Here  for 
seven  years  he  conducted 
a  very  successful  work, 
and  found  abundant  time 
for  writing.  In  Septem 
ber,  1757,  he  was  elected 
president  of  Princeton 
College,  and  took  up  the 
duties  of  this  position 
the  following  January.  Smallpox  was  prevalent  in  the  col 
lege  town  when  Edwards  arrived ;  he  contracted  the  disease, 
and  died  from  it  in  March. 

Edwards's  chief  claim  to  literary  distinction  is  usually 
said  to  rest  on  his  philosophical  treatise,  On  the  freedom  of 
the  Will,  which  had  some  influence  on  English  as  well  as  on 


MEMORIAL  TABLET  TO  EDWARDS. 
In  the  church  at  Northampton. 


22  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

American  thought.     In  spite  of  the  almost  universal  praise 
bestowed  upon  this  work  as  a  powerful  piece  of  independ1 
ent   thought,  it  has    little  real  value  to-day.      Except  fortf 
theologians  and  metaphysicians,  it  can  hardly  be  called  a- 
"  readable  "  book. 

His  sermons,  which  exerted  such  wonderful  influence  whet'0 
delivered,  read   very  curiously    in    the  twentieth   century  »* 
One  is  rather  amused  than  edified  by  the  fire  and  brimstone*; 
theology  in  most  of  them.     Some  critics  have  said  that  tl^y, 
real  Edwards  is  not  to  be  found  in  such  discourses,  but  in' 
those  which  expound  the  Divine  Love.     If,  however,  there 
is  little  sweetness  and  light  and  love  in  a  sermon  on  ' 
text  —  "In  my  father's  house  are  many  mansions"  —  '     • 
is  at   a   loss  where  to   look   for  it.     What  is  th$  TOn^  ^x! 
Edwards«s  sermon  on  this  text  ?  ,  | 

"You  may  be  encouraged  by   what  has  been  said,  earnestly  trj 
seek  -heaven  ;   for  there  are  many  mansions  there.     Therg..-**' 
enough  there.  .  .  .     Let  our  young  people,  therefore,  t^ 
from  hence,  and  don't  be  such  fools  as  to  neglect  seekin 


and  mansion  in  heaven.  .   .  .     Consider  when  you  die, 

no  mansion  in  the  house  of  God  in  heaven,   you   must   liavn  ;><« 

place  of  abode  in  the  habitation  of  devils.'1 

Edwards's  most  famous  -discourse,  and  the  one  which,  Ti 
not  thoroughly  typical  of  him,  is  at  least  typical  of  tl;i< 
religion  he  believed  and  expounded,  is  Sinners  in  the  Hands 
of  an  Angry  God.  This  was  the  beginning,  we  are  told,  of 
a  great  religious  revival,  which  lasted  two  years  ;  and  of  its 
immediate  effect  :  "  There  was  such  a  breathing  of  distress 
and  weeping  that  the  preacher  was  obliged  to  speak  to  the 
people  and  desire  silence,  that  he  might  be  heard."  Future 
punishment  was  a  theme  often  treated  by  him,  and  always 
in  very  realistic  style.  In  one  of  these  sermons,  Tlie  Future 
Punishment  of  the  Wicked  Unavoidable  and  Intolerable,  be 
ginning  with  the  picture  of  a  human  being  cast  into  a  fiery 


EDUCATION  IN  THE  COLONIES 


23 


oven  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  lie  works  up  to  what  he 
.  Jtended  to  be  a  terrific  climax,  and  then  adds  :  "  But  your 

orment  in  hell  will  be  immensely  greater  than  this  illus 
tration  represents."  In  another,  .The  Distinguishing  Marks 
of  a  Work  of  the  Spirit  of  God,  explaining,  as  it  were,  his 

^ntinual  return  to  this  topic,  he  says :  "  If  I  am  in  danger 

going  to  hell,  I  should  be  glad  to  know  as  much  as  I 

•  •ossibly  can  of   the   dreadfulness  of   it."      With   an  ever 


CABLET  COMMKMOKATING  THK  FIRST  PUBLIC  SCHOOL  IN  AMERICA. 
'holograph   by  courtesy  of   Julius   H.   Tattle,  Esq.,    President   of   the 
Dedhain  Historical  Society.) 

present  conviction  of  the  intense  wickedness  of  men,  and 
an  equally  strong  conviction  of  the  terrors  of  future  punish 
ment,  he  felt  impelled  to  repeated  warnings.  His  preach 
ing  aimed,  it  would  seem,  not  so  much  to  lead  men  to 
eternal  bliss  as  to  save  them  from  eternal  torment. 

Education  in  the  Colonies.  —  Since  the  literary  activity  of 
the  different  colonies  depended  very  largely  on  their  educa 
tional  advantages,  it  is  interesting  to  trace  the  development 
of  education  among  them.  New  England  was  settled  in 


24 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


towns  and  villages,  often  by  pastors  with  their  flocks. 
Large  farms  were  not  profitable,  the  Indians  were  hostile, 
and  family  ties  tended  to  keep  the  settlements  compact. 
No  sooner  was  one  well  established  than  the  meeting  house 
and  schoolhouse  were  built.  The  preacher  and  the  school 
master  were  the  most  influential  ptrsons  in  every  com 
munity.  To  provide  for  the  education  of  the  children  was 
as  essential  as  to  provide  means  of  worship.  In  1647  the 
first  school  law  in  America  was  passed  in  Massachusetts, 


HARVARD  COLLEGE. 
From  an  old  print  by  Paul  Revere. 

requiring  every  town  of  fifty  householders  to  establish  a 
school.  By  1649  every  New  England  colony  excepting 
Rhode  Island  had  passed  laws  making  education  com 
pulsory. 

In  the  Southern  colonies,  on  the  other  hand,  the  farms 
were  large  and  scattered,  the  Indians  were  less  troublesome, 
and  there  were  few  villages.  Frequently  even  the  county 
court  house  stood  by  itself  with  only  one  or  two  dwellings 
within  miles.  "  The  Virginia  parishes  were  so  extensive," 
says  Campbell  in  his  History  of  Virginia,  "  that  parishioners 


EDUCATION  IN  THE  COLONIES 


25 


sometimes  lived  at  a  distance  of  fifty  miles  from  the  parish 
church."  By  the  very  nature  of  things  a  system  of  schools 
like  that  in  New  England  was  impossible.  The  people 
grieved  much  because  it  could  be  said  that  their  children 
"were  inferior  in  knowledge  to  their  ancestors/'  and  pro 
posed  various  methods  for  solving  the  problem.  To  make 


OLDEST  BUILDING  OF  WILLIAM  AND  MARY  COLLEGE  (FOUNDED  1693). 
Part  of  the  wall  is  left  from  the  original  structure,  which  was  destroyed 

by  fire. 

things  still  harder  for  them  they  were  afflicted  from  1641  to 
1677  with  Sir  William  Berkeley  as  a  royal  governor,  whose 
position  as  to  education  was  expressed  in  these  words :  "  I 
thank  God  there  are  no  free  schools,  nor  printing  presses  ; 
and  I  hope  we  shall  not  have,  these  hundred  years,  for 
learning  has  brought  disobedience  and  heresy,  and  sects 


«  —  w'-  *\   *>***«&*§  .,  w.^w-J^  foiBt *« 

TheBolton  News-Letter. 


Publiltiea  by  Authority. 


March  6.  to  March  v  March   13. 


irtnorprt  People,  indnftri. 
(jttC  "Killing  to  latent,  a»d  vtrjr  ingenian.  Al- 
•inr  ^  au  forB  ct  Xrades  are  cmying  on  in  ilv.ir 
incredible  ConcTO»fi 


y>  ^  f), 

T,  .*,  WHAT,  «#  K.r«*.«  /W^/y  v.V/  ttuittuJ  ,  and  feMrro   faii  of  two*  »  BfrtJft 

Tht  hun-.b1!:  A.-'.drtl^  of  ;Hc  Knc:  c,  Ci?!Hn»Uid  Pcq->le  Contribute  very  liberally  k>r  their  4Uio» 

BuifCt'tJ  in  Ptrlumcut  Afitsiaic*.  t-i-Mnrr  and   fettiencBt  to  it--  G<ticr4  CaJfeaj-j 

M«y  it  pletft  y>«  Majtfty,  ir~n-t  to   i  tx^ih^riW:  S::in.     W'e  iuvo  aavici 

^  .^:.^^,^  r  **.&*?.,  ^*, 

,'£»fr«JS*h*i**ifa»,^O*  •'*''-'^  fo  i».v  f«'  (cr.-car  nt  thf  tr  t.ih  H'a  o...«.:<^   -7«n 

ifrtfri;  l-n,  ifh,  *hcr  ,*,*•{-  ,,  rvt/p  rfc.i.-«.  Eae.fni.     Ships  DO-*  Leading  tofBoBOB.     D  i'l» 

J'r.tj  m   ii*£<r  tptrthtd  :'r*t    in  ^i!  ':•;*::  r;   fat  9t  {  ,{  ;  t,  £i>ewx*>  DfXrttt.     Nigi.tingdle  C.lf.t.  Jfi^tfm 

f*ml,-*t  ntirtia  tl.r   Frt  a'tl  ''!••<•  Cv.lw.t  •.   »'  a  ;/•',.  l»r.      Nt-K-YorJt  Merchant  Ljpt.  7t«»*r/  /</• 

,^  fcrW,r  ,h  P,ar^.,h-,  !•*•.;  M-r-t  ,,-^i  ,„.{,-  ffif  hTSew.Y?v£i.  J? 

r«-  /.•'-,"  •-;/:.•,!•  p  ;•«•.->•  ^  •..-,»••'*«-•  •'  u>to/,  X,,j.,7.  A".  5.    Lrttm  fimm  arm-f  of 

>""iT.",'-.'-:.r7-.'  .v'r,*1"-'  V^'.pJ-  ".,•'•..;"  th-^th  In*rj:H  ?.-;vi(e,    that  hjs  LK-ct-r.il  lii^v 

f,'H"*''j  j-'.'-.-.-«.Vr  >.-«.•»;*•'/••'  ^  rfV»^>i  trr  />''•;.•-«  ncl>  began  his  Jo.mier  towards  tht  Jmperiii   Xr» 

xW  b«.v«'i.-i  «'    /v-:.«  .f«i  *  ;•  tft  ttittiun  i»  O»t  mv  on  the  Upper  Rhine  the  Day  bt:<:te.     [hcf 

tM,ni  ,-.<•   ,»-..:-,  ;    -  .-7  <»,-,   »,w  O»,-  itufaut   'tx  \n'-tt  &oiii  Sfrj^spif.  that  it  i$  ezpcded  the  F-i->vt> 

titt'Jr-i  ,••••,-.•.        __  _  AniT  w:ii  rcpa!«the  Rjiineai  faon  as  the  Jirrj>e-. 

'  *  •''•••••  -     '  '  amp.    They 


;  arrival  ot  the  Hector  of  Hjn-^f  lu  the  Ar> 
mr.  The  French  k«p  er<nr  Numt>er»  at  wjrfc  o» 
t!v_:r  Lin«  behind  the  Lmtr  to  prevent  the  Ir- 

t!J' -'n'^crnr  Conntrr  vr  rieir  ovn  nfe.    Wbta 

tiiics ;V  A  great  many  of"  the  'U-ira ir.-ird  Men  hire  thefe  A-ricei  wrre  (iifpitched,  the  Marihtt  iTfitr. 

been  re*  CJoatrfd1,  *nd  rait  in  Hojrd  Hc-r  Maje-  <^w  wa<  jtiil  arrived  at  Sfathtutt  and  had  girta 

ft:«  S:iip",  of  War,  tj  be  trained  up  in  N  ivi^at;  ,a  the  neceiiarv  Orders  o:'  h:s  Jnfi  ,rr\-  ta  be  TraoP 

T!ic  CoftuniiTioficrs  arc  iciKinj;  <;c;  Fa.niiies  to  p-^rted  to  the  Liiv.-s  of  Lauttrtwg.     It  it  report* 

]'c*uv]  to  be  frtt!cJ  there  ^  wi;iih  m:ir   prove  a  ed  rrorn  the  Fr- :r;.rs  t'nr  1:1  the  ASion  Rear  G>»- 

verv  pn-per  Mctlioti  in  a  Ihcrt  ti;nr  to  Ojrrote  /-.-ru  tile  tne:n.*  k-.t  twelve  hundred  Menj  after 

rousin  that  Kii^im.     Jt  is  (ii>!  ar.-r:th«r  part  of  CwwAr-ry,  whicli  I'jacc  not  being  ia  •  condition 

them  will  be  rctt;-.\i  a:.>:  r  ti-e  C'-uit^  of  A"->-//{' S1/-  frr  a  Defence,  the  Gariloji   retired  and  marched 

ten.    The  Lords  IV  jiruters  of  tt>c!™a  have  111-  to  the  Cunp  near  S-irrcaar.    The  Ichabitarts  of 

vlt«d  thtm  upon  vcr>'  acwr.raccr.us  Terms  td  ft-t-  the  Cou:itrr  are  in  a    general  Confteniation  * 

tie  there,  bat  as  it  would  etrtfunlr  \x  more  benefi-  fiv  in  Cr.n^s  to  Oremtlt.    All  Perfons  of  di!tiiv 

cial  to  this  Kation,  and  C^rrcMpondcnt  with  die  ^iori  in  thofe  Parts   are  &  much  alarmed  at  th« 

bt»  KatiiralizatioB  Act,  upon  which  foundation  approach  ot'  the  Imperial  Forces,  dot  they  remo»» 

they  came  over,  to  fettle  here  .-   it  is  under  Con-  their  trTeds  beyorxi  tic  Khone. 
fideration  how  to  cifpofe  of  them  Ib  as  that  with-        Tmrtuy  J*rt$  17:  A'.  S.    On  TadSar,  »  Ge- 

cot  being  any  burthen  to  the  Sug^i,  the^  may  be  neral  review  is  to  be  made   ot  our  Arrav ;  aoa 

wit  into  a  Capacity  of  maintaining  thcmielves.jnd  »o  doubt,  if  the  War  continues,  we  fliall  endea* 

EncreaCng  the  Wealth  and  Trade  of  thcfe  KicR-  votir  to  i>tr.ctr:  -   into  France.    General  Schulem. 

doaiv    In  the  mean  time  they  dwell  with  their  berg  »w!:v-  :;      Maftet  of  the  Conntetfcirp  in  4 

FaaiiUea  in  Toitj  en  Btack-heath  aivd  adjacent  Ea-:%  i-  . 

farts.    Her  Majtfty  aUows  thwi  upwards  of  an        4*/Yi,  .  "  *  Hb  Eoellency  the  E«l 

hundred  and  futy  Pounfls  fer  day,  which  with  cr  GJ  ;vr .  •  '-i^erortiT  ill  of  th»  Gout, 

hit  j»»«r  lit: -.      " 


BOSTON  NEWS-LETTER. 

The  first  periodical  in  America  that  enjoyed  a  long  life. 
(New  York  Public  Library.) 


PERIODICAL  LITERATURE 


27 


into  the  world,  and  printing  has  divulged  them,  and  libels 
against  the  best  government.     God  keep  us  from  both," 

In  the  middle  colonies  New  Jersey  was  the  first  (1693) 
to  provide  public  schools.  New  York  and  Pennsylvania  had 
only  private  schools  until  after  the  Revolution. 

In  1636  Massachusetts  provided  for  the  establishment  at 
Newtown  (Cambridge)  of  a  college,  which  was  later  called 
Harvard,  in  grateful  re 
membrance  of  the  liber 
ality  of  a  preacher,  John 
Harvard.  The  other  col 
leges  established  before 
1758  were  :  William  and 
Mary,  in  1693;  Yale, 
in  1700 ;  Princeton,  in 
1746 ;  the  University  of 
Pennsylvania,  in  1749 ; 
Columbia,  in  1754. 
Many  of  the  colonists, 
especially  those  in  the 
South,  sent  their  sons  to 
England  to  be  educated. 
It  is  said  that  at  a  time 
before  1700  one  person 
out  of  every  two  hundred 
in  New  England  was  a 
graduate  of  the  English 
Cambridge,  and  that 


OLD  SOUTH  CHURCH,  BOSTON. 
Besides    serving    for    many    years    as    a 
meeting-house,  Old  South  was  the  scene  of 
there  were  many  Oxford    many  momentous  town  meetings  in   the 
men  besides.  years  just  preceding  the  Revolution. 

Periodical  Literature.  —  Periodical  literature  in  America 
began  with  PuUick  Occurrences,  one  issue  of  which  appeared 
in  Boston  in  1690.  It  was  announced  to  be  published 
monthly  "or  oftener  "  ;  but  the  contents  of  the  first  number 


28  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

displeased  the  authorities,  and  it  was  suppressed  within 
twenty-four  hours.  The  Boston  News-Letter,  begun  in  1704, 
held  the  field  alone  for  fifteen  years,  after  which  rivals 
sprang  up  rapidly.  The  most  important  of  these  early 
journals  were :  the  Boston  Gazette,  and  the  American  Weekly 
Mercury  of  Philadelphia  (both  1719);  the  New  England 
Courant  (by  James  Franklin,  brother  of  Benjamin,  1721)  ; 
the  New  York  Gazette  (1725);  the  Boston  Evening  Post 
(1735);  and  a  second  Boston  Gazette  (1755).1  John  Adams 
was  a  contributor  to  the  last  named,  and  it  became  a  strong 
"voice  of  the  people"  against  England.  After  this  date 
other  papers  followed  rapidly,  and  for  a  long  time  contented 
themselves  with  simply  publishing  news  items  and  adver 
tisements,  abstaining  carefully  from  anything  that  resem 
bled  an  editorial  opinion.  Most  of  them  were  weeklies, 
and  were  very  diminutive  sheets. 

Monthly  journals,  with  distinctly  literary  pretensions, 
began  with  Franklin's  The  General  Magazine  (Philadelphia, 
1741).  Of  its  many  followers  during  the  next  twenty  years 
the  most  noteworthy  were  The  American  Magazine  (Boston, 
1743),  The  Independent  Reflector  (New  York,  1752),  and  a 
second  American  Magazine  (Philadelphia,  1757). 

1  The  earlier  Gazette  ,had  been  absorbed  by  the  News-Letter,  the  pro- 
British  organ  in  New  England. 


CHAPTER   II 


FROM   FRANKLIN   TO   IRVING,    1758-1809 

Introduction.  —  In  the  year  1758  Jonathan  Edwards,  the 
last  of  the  great  colonial  theologians,  died.  As  we  noted  in 
writing  of  Mather,  the 
ascendency  of  the 
clergy  was  already  on 
the  wane  ;  and  Edwards 
was  the  last  of  that  call 
ing  who  strove  to  main 
tain  the  dictatorship  it 
had  possessed.  • 

An  event  of  far  more 
importance  to  letters 
than  the  death  of  Ed 
wards  was  the  appear 
ance  in  the  same  year 
of  "  the  most  famous 
piece  of  literature  the 
colonies  produced." 
This  was  Franklin's  The 
Way  to  Wealth,  or,  Pref 
ace  to  Poor  Richard  Im 
proved,  better  known 
perhaps  as  "  Father 
Abraham's  Speech."  Its 
particular  significance 
in  the  chronology  of  our  literature  lies  in  the  fact  that  it 
is  the  first  notable  piece  of  writing  of  the  first  American  to 
obtain  recognition  abroad. 

29 


BUST  OF  FRANKLIN. 
By  Houdon,  noted  French  sculptor. 


30  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Rise  of  Political  Literature.  —  Although  The  Way  to 
Wealth  is  not  quite  typical  of  the  literary  productions  of 
this  period,  the  author  is  typical  of  the  writers  in  that  most 
of  his  life  and  writing  were  devoted  to  the  gaining  of  inde 
pendence  and  the  establishment  of  the  Republic.  The 
literature  of  the  preceding  period  was  chiefly  either  leisurely 
records  of  current  events  (in  the  South),  or  vigorous  reli 
gious  discussions  (in  New  England).  The  former  dealt 
with  existing  conditions  only,  and  was  satisfied  with  them. 
The  latter  represented  an  aspiration  for  improvement,  but 
only  in  the  direction  of  a  future  life.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  men  we  are  now  to  study  became  convinced  that  the 
government  under  which  they  lived  was  unjust;  and  they 
devoted  the  best  energies  of  their  pens  and  voices  toward 
breaking  away  from  this  government,  and  creating  a  new 
one  and  a  new  society  on  altogether  new  principles.  Their 
concern  was  to  better  their  circumstances  in  this  earthly  life. 

The  new  style  of  writing  was  the  natural  expression  of 
a  feeling  of  nationality  which  had  previously  been  lacking. 
Henry's  "  I  am  not  a  Virginian,  but  an  American,'7  found 
an  echo  in  thousands  of  hearts  in  every  colony.  Thomas 
Paine  speaks  of  the  wrongs  under  which,  not  Pennsylvania, 
but  "  this  continent,"  labors.  Hamilton  vindicates  the  title 
to  freedom,  not  of  New  Yorkers,  but  of  "  Americans."  Otis 
pleads  for  redress,  not  for  Massachusetts  alone,  but  for  "all 
his  Majesty's  most  loyal  and  affectionate  British-American 
subjects."  Different  as  were  the  motives  and  aims  of  the 
settlers  in  the  various  colonies,  they  had  now  come  to  realize 
that  their  common  interests  were  far  greater  than  any 
interest  binding  a  single  colony  to  the  mother  country. 

By  far  the  greatest  part  of  this  period's  literary  expres 
sion  took  the  simple  and  popular  forms  of  oratory,  political 
pamphlets  and  essays,  and  patriotic  poems.  Before  the 
end  of  the  century,  however,  we  find  our  first  dramatist 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN 


31 


(Godfrey),  our  first  poet  worthy  of  the  name  (Freneau), 
and  our  first  novelist  (Brown).  Joining  these  three  names 
with  that  of  Franklin,  we  perceive  that  in  addition  to 
founding  a  new  nation,  the  last  half  of  the  eighteenth  cen 
tury  began  also  a  new  literature  destined,  before  another 
half  century  had  passed,  to  take  an  honorable  place  among 
the  literatures  of  the  world. 

BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN,    1706-1790 

Franklin's  own  story  of  his  life  down  to  1757  is  one  of 
the  great  biographies  of  the  world.  Written  in  the  form  of 
a  letter  to  his  son,  for  the  latter  and  his  descendants  only, 
and  with  no  thought  of  publication,  it  has  found  a  secure 
place  among  the  world's 
classics.  It  is  a  simple 
straightforward  account 
of  the  author's  rise  by 
his  own  efforts  from 
"  poverty  and  obscurity 
...  to  a  state  of  afflu 
ence  and  some  degree  of 
celebrity  in  the  world." 

Early  Life.  —  He  was 
born  in  Boston,  the 
fifteenth  of  seventeen 
children  of  his  father, 
of  whom  ten  were  by 
a  second  wife,  Abiah 
Folger,  daughter  of  a 
New  England  preacher 
who  distinguished  him- 
self  somewhat  by  his 

advocacv     of     religions 
advocacy  .ngious 

toleration.     Add  to  the 


FRANKLIN'S  BIRTHPLACE  IN  MILK 
STREET,  BOSTON. 

At    the   age  of  seventeen   Benjamin    ran 
>  and  from  that  time  hig  home  wag  in 

Philadelphia. 


32 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


size  of  the  family  the  fact  that  Franklin's  father  was  a 
candle  maker,  and  the  "  poverty  and  obscurity "  of  his 
situation  will  be  readily  understood.  After  two  years  at 
school  Benjamin  was  taken  at  the  age  of  ten  to  help  his 
father.  He  disliked  the  business ;  and  his  father,  fearing 
that  the  boy  would  yield  to  a  strong  "hankering"  for  the 

sea,  decided  to  put  him 
in  some  line  of  work 
that  would  please  him 
better.  His  great 
fondness  for  books 
prompted  his  father 
to  apprentice  him  to 
his  brother  James,  a 
printer. 

After  some  dis 
agreements  with  his 
employer,  Benjamin, 
then  seventeen  years 
old,  ran  away  to  ]N"ew 
York.  Finding  no 
work  there,  he  pro 
ceeded  on  the  advice 
of  an  acquaintance  to 
Philadelphia,  which 
city  was  to  be  his 
home  for  the  rest  of 
his  life,  and  with  whose  history  his  own  was  to  be  in 
separably  connected.  One  of  his  familiar  and  humorous 
stories  is  that  of  his  first  promenade  up  Market  Street,  eat 
ing  a  loaf  of  dry  bread,  and  carrying  a  loaf  under  each  arm. 
Miss  Read,  his  future  wife,  saw  him,  "  and  thought  I  made," 
says  he,  "as  I  certainly  did,  a  most  awkward,  ridiculous 
appearance."  He  worked  with  one  Keimer  for  a  time ;  and 


FRANKLIN'S  PRINTING  PRESS. 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN 


33 


becoming  known  as  a  good  workman,  was  led  by  Governoi 
Keith  to  go  to  England  in  order  to  secure  equipment  for  a 
shop  of  his  own  which  would  do  the  government  printing. 
In  London  Keith's  name  proved  of  no  value,  and  Franklin 
was  obliged  to  seek  work  at  his  trade  for  support.  He  was 
very  successful  at  this,  and  attained  great  distinction  as 
the  "  Water-American  " 
among  the  beer-drinking 
English  printers,  who 
marveled  that  he  was 
stronger  than  they. 
After  eighteen  months 
in  London,  he  sailed  for 


in 


July, 


Philadelphia 
1726. 

Part  in  Public  Affairs. 
—  Again  engaging  in 
the  printing  business,  he 
purchased  three  years 
later  The  Pennsylvania 
Gazette.  His  influence, 
always  for  good,  in 
creased.  He  formed  a 
number  of  his  most 
substantial  friends  into 
a  society  called  the 
"  Junto  "  —  which  de 
veloped  into  the  American  Philosophical  Society.  With  the 
aid  of  the  Junto  he  started  his  "first  project  of  a  public 
nature  —  that  for  a  subscription  library,  —  the  mother  of  all 
the  North  American  subscription  libraries."  In  1749  he 
was  the  moving  spirit  in  the  foundation  of  an  academy, 
which  six  years  later  received  a  charter  raising  it  to  col 
legiate  grade,  and  subsequently  became  the  University  of 


PORTRAIT   OF   FRANKLIN  BY  DUPLESSIS. 
The    subject's    favorite   of  the    600  like 
nesses  of  himself  which  had  come  under 
his  notice. 


34  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Pennsylvania.  Among  other  results  of  his  activity  for  the 
public  good  were  the  paving  of  the  Philadelphia  streets,  the 
organization  of  a  regular  police  force  and  a  fire  department, 
and  the  establishment  of  a  state  militia. 

After  1748  he  took  no  active  part  in  business,  "  having 
taken  a  very  able,  industrious,  and  honest  partner,"  who 
managed  the  concern  successfully  for  eighteen  years.  By 
this  move  "  I  flattered  myself,"  says  Franklin,  "  that  I  had 
found  leisure  during  the  rest  of  my  life  for  philosophical 
studies  and  amusements ;  but  the  public  laid  hold  of  me  for 
their  purposes."  He  was  appointed  or  elected  magistrate, 
councilman,  assemblyman,  postmaster-general,  delegate  to 
the  Albany  Congress  in  1754,1  colonial  agent  in  England 
and  in  France,  member  of  the  Second  Continental  Congress, 
and  member  of  the  Constitutional  Convention.  He  has  the 
distinction  of  being  the  only  man  who  signed  the  four  most 
important  documents  of  our  country,  —  the  Declaration  of 
Independence,  the  Treaty  of  Alliance  with  France,  the 
Treaty  of  Peace  with  England,  and  the  Constitution. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  that,  though  Franklin's  services  to 
the  colonies  were  inestimable,  he  was  out  of  the  country 
during  the  war  and  during  the  greater  part  of  the  twenty 
years  preceding  it.  From  1757  to  1762  he  represented 
Pennsylvania  in  England ;  from  1764  to  1775,  Pennsylvania, 
New  Jersey,  Massachusetts,  and  Georgia ;  and  from  1776  to 
1783  he  was  ambassador  to  France  from  the  United  States 
of  America.  He  was  uniformly  and  eminently  successful 
in  every  public  office  he  held,  and  on  his  foreign  missions 
achieved  great  social  triumphs.  On  his  return  to  Pennsyl 
vania  in  1785  he  was  chosen  governor  of  the  state,  and  two 

1  Franklin  drew  up  a  plan  of  union,  which  was  rejected  by  the  colonies 
because  "  there  was  too  much  prerogative  in  it,"  and  by  the  mother 
country  because  there  was  "too  much  of  the  democratic"  —  Autobiog 
raphy,  Chap.  X. 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  35 

years  later  was  an  influential  member  of  the  body  that 
framed  the  Constitution.  This  was  his  last  public  service, 
and  was  performed  faithfully  despite  the  fact  that  he  was 
not  only  in  poor  health,  incident  to  old  age,  but  was  suffer 
ing  constant,  severe  pain. 

"  Whilst  the  last  members  were  signing  "  [the  Constitu 
tion],  says  James  Madison,1  "Doctor  Franklin,  looking 
towards  the  president's  chair,  at  the  back  of  which  a  rising 
sun  happened  to  be  painted,  observed  to  a  few  members  near 
him,  that  painters  had  found  it  difficult  to  distinguish  in 
their  art,  a  rising,  from  a  setting  sun.  'I  have,'  said  he, 
'  often  and  often,  in  the  course  of  the  session,  arid  the 
vicissitudes  of  my  hopes  and  fears  as  to  its  issue,  looked  at 
that  behind  the  President  without  being  able  to  tell  whether 
it  was  rising  or  setting ;  but  now  at  length,  I  have  the 
happiness  to  know,  that  it  is  a  rising,  and  not  a  setting  sun.' " 
The  sun  of  Franklin's  life,  on  the  contrary,  was  approaching 
its  setting ;  and  the  end  came  April  17,  1790,  a  month  before 
the  last  state  signed  the  Constitution.  At  his  death  Congress 
went  into  mourning  for  one  month,  and  the  French  Assembly 
addressed  a  letter  of  condolence  to  the  American  people. 

First  Literary  Efforts.  —  The  above  outline  of  Franklin's 
life  gives  little  hint  of  why  he  has  a  place  in  literature,  and 
no  writings  of  his  have  been  mentioned  except  the  Auto 
biography  and  The  Way  to  Wealth.  He  was,  however,  a 
voluminous  writer,  and  on  a  wide  range  of  subjects.  His 
first  publications  appeared  while  he  was  still  a  boy  (1722) 
—  a  series  of  fourteen  letters  written  to  his  brother  James's 
newspaper,  signed  "  Silence  Dogood."  The  substance  of 
them  was  inspired  by  Mather's  essays,2  and  the  style  by 
Addison's  Spectator. 

"  Mrs.  Dogood  "  introduces  herself  in  the  first  papers  as  a 

1  In  his  Journal  of  the  Constitutional  Convention. 
-  See  above,  page  18. 


36  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

"courteous  and  affable,  good-humored  and  handsome,  and 
sometimes  witty  "  widow,  not  unwilling  to  change  her  state, 
"  an  enemy  to  vice, . .  .  jealous  for  the  liberties  of  my  country," 
and  inclined  "  to  reprove  the  faults  of  others  " ;  and  then 
proceeds  to  satirize  some  of  the  foibles  and  vices  of  the  town 
(Boston).  She  ridicules  pride,  popular  poetry,  hypocrites, 
fanciful  philanthropic  schemes,  drunkenness,  and  so  on. 
These  papers  are  important  to  us  chiefly  as  showing  how 
early  Franklin  acquired  something  of  the  simplicity  and 
purity  of  style,  the  characteristic  humor,  and  the  interest  in 
matters  of  more  than  personal  importance  which  marked 
his  whole  career. 

The  Dogood  Papers,  however,  reached  no  great  audience 
and  probably  had  little  influence.  Nor  can  more  be  said  of 
the  Busy-Body  pieces  written  in  1729,  for  the  express  pur 
pose  of  driving  an  unfair  competitor  out  of  business.  This 
they  accomplished,  but  they  show  no  advance  in  literary 
merit  over  their  predecessors.  Though  Franklin  continued 
to  write  under  his  own  as  well  as  under  various  assumed 
names  and  on  a  variety  of  subjects,  big  and  little,  it  was  not 
until  the  appearance  of  his  Almanac  that  he  became  some 
thing  of  an  influence  in  the  colony. 

"Poor  Richard's  Almanac."  —  Begun  in  1732,  under  the 
name  of  "  Richard  Saunders,"  the  Almanac  circulated  largely, 
made  money  for  its  author,  and  was  thought  to  have  "  its 
share  of  influence,"  says  Franklin,  "  in  producing  that  grow 
ing  plenty  of  money  which  was  observable  for  several  years 
after  its  publication."  This  was  due,  doubtless,  to  the 
proverbs  or  maxims  scattered  through  the  book,  being 
"  chiefly  such  as  inculcated  industry  and  frugality."  While 
in  substance  they  were  the  world's  wisdom  and  not 
Franklin's,  it  was  in  his  phraseology  that  they  became  cur 
rent  ;  and  no  one  should  feel  any  hesitation  in  calling  them 
original,  —  a  term,  which,  as  Lowell  observes,  "is  never 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN 


37 


nm     ••— 

Poor  RICHARD  improved : 


BEING    AN 


ALMANACK 


E  P 


absolute."  The  proverbs,  scattered  through  the  issues  of 
the  Almanac  for  sixteen  years,  obtained  still  greater  currency 
through  their  collection  in  the  preface  of  1758,  the  "  Father 
Abraham's  Speech  " 
mentioned  above.  It 
is  in  this  form  also 
that  they  have  be 
come  so  familiar  to 
the  succeeding  gen 
erations.  Almost 
any  American  boy  or 
girl  of  a  dozen  years 
can  finish,  "Early  to 
bed  and  .  .  . ,"  "A 
small  leak  will  .  .  .," 
"  Constant  dropping 
.  .  . ,"  "  Experience 
keeps  a  dear  school 
but  ...  " 

It  would  be  im 
possible  to  give  in 
our  small  space  quo 
tations  or  summaries 
adequately  charac-  • 
terizing  the  body  of 
Franklin's  writings. 
One  of  the  many 
collections  of  his 
manuscripts,  that  of 
the  American  Phil 
osophical  Society, 
numbers  13,000  doc 
uments,  "  compris 
ing,"  says  Professor 


AND 

H  E  M  E  R  I  S 

O  F    T  H  E 

MOTIONS  of  the  SUN  and  MOON; 

THE    TRUE 

PLACES  and  ASPECTS  of  the  PLANETS  ; 

THE 
RISING  and  SETTING  of  the   SUN 

AND    THE 

Rifing,  Setting  and  Southing  of  the  Moon, 

FOR    THE 

YEAR  of  our  L  O  R  D  I  7  5  8: 

Being  the  Second  after  LEAP-YEAR. 

Containing  alfo, 

The  lunations,  Conjunctions,  Eclipfes,  Judg 
ment  of  th«  Weather,  Rifing  and  Setting  of  rhe 
Planets,  Length  of  Days  and  Nights,  Fairs,  Courts, 
Roads,  £»fr .  Together  with  ufeful  Tables,  chro- 
nologicalObfervations,  and  entertaining  Remarks. 


the  Latitude  of  Forty  Dsgrees,  and  a  Meridian  of  near 
flve  Hours W«ft  from  London  ;  but  may,  without  fen C We  Error, 
fervaall  the  NORTH2*  *  COLONIES. 

By    RLCHARD    SOUNDERS,   Philom. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
Printed  and  Sold  by  B.  FRANKLIN,  and  D.  HALL. 


TITLE-PAGE  OF  Poor  Richard's  Almanac  FOR 
1758,  the  Issue  in  which  Poor  Richard's  "  Say 
ings  "  were  first  collected. 
(Courtesy  of  the  Library  of  Congress.) 


/"'C 

->du:^2l  ^ 


Tj^esr- 


X^»^  ^ 


FACSIMILE  OF  A  LETTER  OF  FRANKLIN'S  WHICH  WAS  NEVER  SENT. 
(Library  of  Congress.) 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  39 

Smyth,  "  a  correspondence  carried  on  in  nine  languages  with 
all  the  world,  and  dealing  with  every  theory  of  philosophy 
and  every  scheme  of  politics  familiar  and  unfamiliar  in  the 
eighteenth  century."1 

Political  Writings.  —  Of  his  many  political  pieces  the 
Causes  of  the  American  Discontents  before  1768  is  an  excellent 
example  of  Franklin's  serious  vein,  and  the  Edict  of  the 
King  of  Prussia  of  his  satiric.  In  the  former,  professing  to 
write  as  "an  impartial  historian  of  American  facts  and 
opinions,"  he  cites  as  causes  of  the  unfortunate  conditions 
in  America:  first,  the  various  forms  of  taxation  following 
the  repeal  of  the  Stamp  Act;  second,  the  restrictions  on  the 
colonists'  trade;  third,  the  multiplicity  of  obnoxious  offi 
cials  ;  and  lastly,  the  emptying  of  British  prisons  into  the 
settlements.2  It  was  not  published  in  London  exactly  as 
written ;  indeed  Franklin  wrote  to  his  son  that  the  editor 
had  "  drawn  the  teeth  and  pared  the  nails  of  my  paper  so 
that  it  can  neither  scratch  nor  bite." 

In  the  Edict  the  Prussian  monarch  is  represented  as  lay 
ing  claim  to  Britain,  and  making  demands  for  long-neglected 
tribute  and  acknowledgment  of  Prussia's  authority  over  the 
island.  These  demands  "  will  be  thought  just  and  reason 
able  "  by  the  "  colonists  "  in  Britain,  says  he,  since  they  are 
in  accord  with  numerous  statutes  of  Parliament,  and  with 
"  resolutions  of  both  houses,  entered  into  for  the  good  gov 
ernment  of  their  own  colonies  in  Ireland  and  America" 
(Italics  are  Franklin's.)  The  Edict,  published  in  a  London 
magazine,  was  accepted  by  many  for  a  time  as  genuine,  and 
occasioned  great  indignation ;  but  discovery  of  its  real  char 
acter  produced  no  effect  in  Britain  beyond  a  recognition  of 

1  Writings  of  Benjamin  Franklin,  I,  viii. 

2  This  refers  to  the  practice  of  sending  prisoners  to  America  as  inden 
tured   servants  —  i.e.   each  bound  to  a  master  for  a  specified   term  of 
years. 


40  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

its  justice  by  some  far-seeing  minds,  and  a  general  conviction 
that  America  meant  tight. 

Lighter  Works.  —  Most  readers  agree  that  when  Franklin 
had  as  his  chief  aim  in  writing,  not  to  gain  some  practical 
end,  but  merely  to  entertain,  he  is  not  altogether  success 
ful.  Of  the  inconsiderable  number  of  pieces  of  this  type, 
The  Whistle  is  perhaps  the  favorite.  This  is  a  letter  to 
Madame  Brillon,  a  clever  Frenchwoman,  whose  family  were 
great  admirers  of  Franklin,  and  were  never  weary  of  enter 
taining  and  being  entertained  and  instructed  by  the  Ameri 
can  ambassador.  The  WJiistle,  based  on  a  boyhood  experience 
of  the  writer  when  he  gave-  four  times  its  worth  for  an 
instrument  of  torment  to  his  household,  is  a  humorous 
moral  discourse  on  bad  bargains. 

The  work  of  Franklin  the  scientist  is  too  well  known  to 
call  for  much  remark.  It  seems  sufficient  to  give  the 
evidence  of  the  value  put  upon  his  discoveries,  especially  in 
electricity,  by  the  learned  world.  Yale  and  Harvard  con 
ferred  upon  him  the  degree  of  Master  of  Arts ;  the  univer 
sities  of  Oxford,  Edinburgh,  and  Saint  Andrews,  that  of 
Doctor  of  Laws ;  he  was  made  a  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Society 
without  application  by  him  —  a  very  unusual  proceeding  — 
and  without  payment  of  fees ;  and  the  Copley  gold  medal, 
conferred  annually  for  the  most  important  discovery  in 
natural  philosophy,  was  awarded  to  him  in  1753. 

From  even  this  brief  sketch  it  can  be  seen  that,  whether 
viewed  as  author,  scientist,  statesman,  or  practical  business 
man,  Franklin  fills  a  large  place  in  the  history  of  our  coun 
try.  One  is  inclined  to  doubt  whether  with  fewer  occupa 
tions  he  would  have  made  a  greater  name  in  literature.  He 
wrote  less  effectively,  because  less  naturally,  when  he  had 
not  some  practical  object  in  mind,  such  as  inculcating  indus 
try  and  frugality  in  his  neighbors,  or  inspiring  his  descend 
ants  by  the  story  of  his  life,  or  presenting  the  colonial  view 


JAMES  OTIS  41 

of  things  to  the  mother  country.  Since  the  vast  majority  of 
his  writings,  however,  had  these  practical  objects,  it  is  fair 
to  judge  and  place  him  by  them.  The  distinguished  Eng 
lish  critic,  Matthew  Arnold,  said  to  New  England  audiences 
as  late  as  1884,  that  Franklin  and  Emerson  are  "  the  most 
distinctively  and  honourably  American  of  your  writers ; 
they  are  the  most  original  and  the  most  valuable." 

THE   ORATORS 

It  has  been  noted  that  oratory  was  one  of  the  chief  liter 
ary  forms  of  the  Revolution.  The  fact  is  not  surprising. 
"  Times  that  try  men's  souls  "  are  likely  to  find  expression 
by  word  of  mouth.  Moreover,  the  colonists  were  deeply  in 
terested  in  the  literature  produced  in  Parliament,  and  natu 
rally  gave  more  time  and  thought  to  the  speeches  of  Burke 
and  Fox  than  to  the  writings  of  Goldsmith  and  Johnson. 
The  stately  and  measured  style  of  the  orators  of  this  period 
clearly  shows  that  they  followed  English  models.  Massa 
chusetts  and  Virginia  held  the  leadership  in  this  field.  The 
conspicuous  names  in  Massachusetts  are  James  Otis,  Samuel 
and  John  Adams,  Dr.  Joseph  Warren,  John  Hancock,  and 
Josiah  Quincy.  Of  these  Otis  was  the  first  in  time,  the 
most  striking  figure,  and  may  be  taken  as  typical  of  the 
New  Englanders. 

James  Otis  (1725-1783).  —  Otis's  part  in  the  development 
of  the  spirit  of  American  independence  covers  a  short  time, 
but  is  of  great  importance.  Though  we  can  hardly  say, 
with  John  Adams,  that  "American  independence  was  born" 
when  Otis  delivered  his  most  famous  speech,  we  must 
admit  that  both  his  example  and  his  words  carried  great 
weight  with  the  people,  not  only  of  Massachusetts,  but  of 
all  the  colonies.  Otis  was  a  Harvard  graduate,  who  studied 
law  and  began  to  practice  in  Plymouth.  At  the  age  of 


42 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


twenty-five  he  moved   to  Boston,  and  immediately  took  a 
high  place  in  his  profession.     He  became  Advocate-General 
of  the  Crown,  but  resigned  in  1761  because  he  would  not 
defend  the  writs  of   assistance  —  a  duty  belonging  to  the 
office.     He  was  thereupon  chosen  to  assist  in  the  attack  on 
^_^^__^^______^______       them,  and  it  is  upon 

fragmentary  reports  of 
his  speech  on  that 
occasion  that  his  fame 
as  an  orator  largely 
rests. 

These  writs  were 
search-warrants,  origi 
nally  issued,  as  Otis 
shows,  to  specified 
officials,  giving  them 
authority  to  search 
specified  houses  for 
certain  specified  goods 
suspected  of  being  con 
cealed.  The  objection 
raised  by  the  colonists 
was  to  the  issuance  of 
a  writ  to  any  petty 
officer,  who  might  give 
or  sell  it  to  any  indi 
vidual,  who  '  might 
search  the  house  of  any 

other  individual  against  whom  he  might  have  a  grievance  or 
even  a  grudge.  The  fragment  of  Otis's  speech  left  to  us  con 
tains  one  clause  that  has  passed  into  a  proverb  :  "  A  man's 
house  is  his  castle."  The  legal  argument  is  convincing,  the 
character  of  the  man  is  attractive,  the  English  is  that  of  a 
cultured  Massachusetts  gentleman.  If  we  fail  to  be  ditz- 


OLD  STATE  HOUSE,  BOSTON. 

It  dates  from   1748,   and  its   outer    walls 

from  1712.    The  lion  and  unicorn  of  the 

British  arms   remain    at    the    corners    of 

the  roof. 


PATRICK  HENRY 


43 


zled  by  the  "flame  of  fire"  (Adams's  phrase  describing  Otis 
before  the  Court),  we  must  recall  that  all  oratory  loses  when 
committed  to  ink  and  paper,  and  that  in  this  instance  we 
have  the  additional  difficulty  of  judging  a  five-hour  speech 
by  a  ten-minute  fragment. 

Of  Southern  orators  the  most  distinguished  were  John 
Rutledge  and  Chief  Justice  Drayton,  of  South  Carolina,  and 
Edmund  Randolph,  Richard  Henry  Lee,  and  Patrick  Henry, 
of  Virginia.  Of  these  Patrick  Henry  'was  easily  the  great 
est,  considered  strictly  as  an  orator. 

Patrick  Henry  (1736-1799). —  Henry  received  a  meager 
education,  and  failed  at  farming  and  "  store  keeping."  At 


ST.  JOHN'S  CHURCH,  RICHMOND. 

Where  Henry  delivered    his   famous  speech    before    the  Virginia  Con 
vention.    The  church  was  built  in  1740,  and  some  tombstones  in  the  yard 
date  back  to  1751. 


44 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


the  age  of  twenty-four  he  studied  law  for  a  short  time,  and 
was  admitted  to  the  bar  on  the  understanding  with  the  exam 
iners  that  he  would  shortly  "  learn  some  essential  points." 
He  soon  attained  success  and  popularity  as  a  lawyer,  and  in 
1765  was  elected  to  the  House  of  Burgesses.  During  his 
first  year  in  that  body  he  became  conspicuous  by  a  speech 


INTERIOR  OF  ST.  JOHN'S. 

The  Henry  pew  (just  forward  of  the  window  on  the  left)  is  marked  by 

a  brass  plate  placed  by  the  Old  Dominion  Chapter  of  the  Daughters  of  the 

Kevolution  in  1910. 

against  the  Stamp  Act,  which  concludes  with  the  familiar 
"  Caesar  had  his  Brutus  "  passage.  Ten  years  later,  in  the 
Virginia  convention,  held  in  old  St.  John's  Church,  Rich 
mond,  he  delivered  what  was  probably  his  greatest  speech, 
reaching  its  climax  in  the  sentiment  not  by  any  means  gen 
eral  at  the  time  :  "  I  know  riot  what  course  others  may  take ; 
but  as  for  me,  give  me  liberty,  or  give  me  death ! " 


THOMAS  PAINE  45 

This  speech  has  been  called  Henry's  individual  declara 
tion  of  war.  It  resulted  in  the  unanimous  adoption  of  reso 
lutions  he  offered,  and  in  his  appointment  as  chairman  of  the 
committee  to  provide  means  of  defense  for  the  colony.  Other 
honors  conferred  upon  him  were  several  terms  in  the  legis 
lature  and  five  as  governor.  He  declined  a  sixth  term  as 
governor,  election  to  the  United  States  Senate,  a.  place  in 
Washington's  Cabinet,  the  chief-justiceship  of  the  Supreme 
Court,  and  appointment  by  John  Adams  as  minister  to 
France.  The  last  five  years  of  his  life  were  spent  in  re 
tirement. 

Thomas  Paine  (1737-1809). — With  the  orators  should  be 
classified  the  political  pamphleteers,  of  whom  the  most  in- 
^fluential  during  the  Revolution  was  Thomas  Paine,  an 
Englishman  and  a  Quaker,  who,  after  a  checkered  career  at 
home,  landed  in  Philadelphia  on  the  eve  of  the  war,  Novem 
ber  30,  1774.  He  brought  letters  of  introduction  from 
Franklin,  and  rapidly  made  friends. 

In  less  than  thirteen  months  after  his  arrival  he  pub 
lished  anonymously  Common  Sense,  a  vigorous  presentation 
of  the  American  cause,  which  is  credited  by  some  with  large 
influence  on  the  Declaration  of  Independence  six  months 
afterwards.  "  A  government  of  our  own  is  our  natural 
right,"  wrote  Paine.  "  I  challenge  the  warmest  advocate 
for  reconciliation  to  show  a  single  advantage  that  this  con 
tinent  can  reap  by  being  connected  with  Great  Britain." 
"  Since  nothing  but  blows  will  do,  for  God's  sake  let  us  come 
to  a  final  separation."  Though  comparatively  few  colonial 
leaders  had  been  prepared  a  year  earlier  to  follow  Henry  to 
"  liberty  or  death,"  Paine' s  pamphlet  roused  the  rank  and 
file  of  the  people  from  Massachusetts  to  Georgia.  Within 
three  months  a  number  of  editions,  amounting  to  over 
100,000  copies,  had  been  printed  and  circulated  in  America. 
"  A  wonderful  production  " —  "  a  masterly,  irresistible  per- 


46  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

formance  " —  the  writer  "  deserves  a  statue  of  gold  " —  "  in 
unison  with  the  sentiments  and  feelings  of  the  people": 
—  such  phrases  give  some  idea  of  the  reception  accorded 
this  radical  expression  of  anti-British  feeling. 

Paine  followed  Common  Sense  with  a  series   of  sixteen 


PAINE'S  HOMESTEAD  AT  NEW  ROCHELLE,  NEW  YORK. 

New  York  State  gave  him  the  farm  of  275  acres,  Pennsylvania  gave  him 

$2500,  Congress  $3800.    The  house  was  moved  in  1910  to  a  spot  within  a 

few  yards  of  Paine's  grave  and  monument. 

papers  called  TJie  Crisis.  The  first  number,  beginning  with 
"These  are  the  times  that  try  men's  souls" —  another 
American  proverb  to  be  placed  with  Otis's  quoted  above, 
was  written  during  the  disorderly  retreat  of  the  army  across 
New  Jersey  in  December,  1776.  It  was  by  no  means  de- 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  47 

liberately  argumentative  as  was  his  first  production ;  and  it 
descends  in  places  to  hot-headed  invective,  as,  for  instance, 
when  he  compares  George  III  to  a  "  common  murderer,  a 
highwayman,  or  a  house-breaker."  But  in  the  words  of 
Woodrow  Wilson,  it  "  swung  men  to  its  humor,"  as  did  the 
succeeding  papers,  which  appeared  at  irregular  intervals  to 
the  close  of  the  war  in  1783.  "  His  infallible  instinct  for 
interpreting  to  the  public  its  own  conscience  and  its  own 
consciousness,"  says  Tyler,  was  the  secret  of  his  power. 
He  served  the  country  well  in  the  field,  and  obtained  sup 
plies  and  a  large  loan  from  France  at  a  critical  hour.  His 
greatest  service,  however,  to  the  cause  of  independence  was 
with  his  pen,  from  which,  under  the  most  adverse  conditions, 
including  poverty,  came  stirring  and  inspiring  words  that 
went  straight  to  their  goal  —  the  hearts  of  his  adopted 
countrymen. 

George  Washington  (1732-1799).  — Of  the  life  of  the  great 
leader  and  first  president  of  the  republic  no  account  is 
needed  here.  The  life  of  Washington  is  the  history  of  our 
country  from  the  meeting  of  the  first  Continental  Congress 
in  1774  to  his  death.  The  niche  he  fills  in  our  literature  is 
a  much  smaller  one. 

He  was,  said  Patrick  Henry,  the  greatest  man  in  the 
Congress  of  1774  in  "  solid  information  and  sound  judg 
ment,"  both  of  which  qualities  appear  in  his  writings. 
These  comprise  only  a  large  correspondence  and  state 
papers,  of  which  the  best  known  and  in  most  respects  the 
best  done  is  the  Farewell  Address  to  his  countrymen  on  leav 
ing  the  presidency.  His  high  conception  of  duty  and  his 
devotion  to  it,  his  modesty,  his  sublime  trust  in  God,  the 
unquestionable  purity  of  his  motives  —  these  qualities  also 
stand  out  clearly.  The  First  Inaugural  is  a  wise  handling 
of  a  difficult  subject,  for  which  he  had  no  model  or  prec 
edent.  His  Legacy,  a  circular  letter  addressed  to  the 


48 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


governors  of  the  states  on  disbanding  the  army,  and  written 
with  the  expectation  of  retiring  permanently  to  the  repose 

of  Mount  Vernon,  gives 

his  "final  blessing"  to 
the  country,  to  which 
he  had  already  given 
his  best  thought  and 
energies. 

Washington  was 
among  the  first  to  as 
sert  the  right  of  the 
colonies  to  self-govern 
ment.  Possessing  great 
power  of  self-control, 
he  may  mislead  his 
reader  into  supposing 
he  was  not  a  man  of 
strong  feeling.  But 
we  have  a  fragment  of 
a  speech  delivered  in 
the  Virginia  Conven 
tion  of  •  1774  which 
shows  a  fire  seldom 
found  in  him  except  by 
reading  between  the 
lines.  When  the  suf 
ferings  of  Boston  under 
the  enforcement  of  the 
Port  Bill  were  brought 
out,  Washington  rose 
and  said:  "I  will  raise 
a  thousand  men,  sub 
sist  them  at  my  own  expense,  and  march  with  them,  at 
their  head,  for  the  relief  of  Boston." 


HOUDON'S  WASHINGTON. 
In   the   rotunda  of  the   State  Capitol  at 
Richmond,  Va.;  believed  by  many  to  be 
the  best  representation  of  the  statesman. 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON 


49 


^r^yg 

^^^^^•X—-^  '  • 


^^^g^^^x^^U^.^^^ 


FACSIMILE  OF  A  PAGE  OF  WASHINGTON'S  Farewell  Address. 

Showing  the  extensive  revision  to  which  the  whole  was  subjected. 

(New  York  Public  Library.) 


50 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


Without  the  simplicity  and  homely  wit  of  Franklin,  with 
out  the  force  of  Paine  or  the  oratorical  power  of  Henry, 
Washington's  writings  show  a  dignity,  poise,  and  honesty 
which  can  never  fail  to  attract  the  serious  reader.  They 
reveal,  moreover,  a  singularly  pure  and  beautiful  character. 


MOUNT  VERNON. 

Washington's  home  on  the  Potomac  near  the  Capital.    It  was  named  in 

honor  of  Admiral  Vernon  by  Lawrence  Washington,  George's  brother, 

and  came  into  George's  possession  by  bequest  in  1752. 

which  has  stood  the  supreme  test   of  a  century  of  unim- 
passioned  research  and  examination. 

Thomas  Jefferson  (1743-1826).  —  Another  statesman  of 
the  Revolution  who  is  entitled  to  a  place  in  our  literature 
is  Thomas  Jefferson.  Like  Otis,  and  unlike  Henry,  Paine, 
and  Washington,  Jefferson  was  a  college-bred  man,  having 
been  graduated  from  William  and  Mary  at  the  age  of 
seventeen.  Nine  years  later  he  began  his  public  career 
as  a  member  of  the  Virginia  House  of  Burgesses,  and  for 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON 


-51 


the  succeeding  forty  years  (to  the  end  of  his  second  term  as 
President)  he  was  prominent  and  influential  in  both  state 
and  national  affairs.  From  1809  till  his  death  he  lived 
quietly  on  his  beautiful  estate  called  Monticello,  a  few 
miles  from  Charlottesville,  subsequently  the  seat  of  the 
University  of  Virginia.  The  achievements  of  which  he 


MONTICELLO,  HOME  OF  JEFFERSON. 

Built  after  a  plan  of  his  own.  It  "remains  to  this  day  the  confessed 
architectural  triumph  of  a  dreamer  scarcely  beyond  his  youth."  (J.  S. 

Patton.) 

was  proud  are  indicated  by  the  inscription  on  his  tomb, 
written  by  himself :  "  Author  of  the  Declaration  of  Ameri 
can  Independence,  of  the  Statute  of  Virginia  for  Eeligious 
Freedom,  and  Father  of  the  University  of  Virginia." 

When  Jefferson  entered  the  Continental  Congress  in  1775, 
he  already  had  some  reputation  as  a  writer  and  scholar. 
He  was  appointed  on  committees  to  prepare  documents  for 


52 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


the  body,  and  a  year  after  its  assembling  he  was  made  a 
member  of  the  committee  of  five  to  prepare  "  a  Declara 
tion?"  John  Adams  and  Jefferson  were  designated  a  sub- 
committee'to  draft  it,  and  Adams  insisted  that  the  Virginian 
was  the  man  to  do  the  writing.  Adams  late  in  life  spoke 
slightingly  (if  not  cjfrjpmptuously)  of  the  Declaration, 

_ especially  of  its  lack  of 

originality.  As  has, 
however,  been  pointed 
out,  it  was  not  intended 
to  be  an  original,  indi 
vidual  document,  but 
the  expression  of  the 
American  people  as  a 
whole;  and  there  can 
be  no  question  that 
Jefferson  succeeded  ad 
mirably  in  giving  voice 
to  feelings  and  wishes 
that  had  already  be 
come  national. 

The  personal  note, 
which  was  largely  ab 
sent  from  the  Declaration,  was  heard  in  an  earlier  work,  known 
as  a  Summary  View  of  the  Rights  of  British  America.  This 
paper  Jefferson  hoped  to  see  adopted  by  the  Virginia  Conven 
tion  as  instructions  to  its  delegates  to  the  Colonial  Congress, 
but  was  disappointed.  The  Americans,  said  he,  are  indebted 
to  Britain  for  nothing  of  what  they  have:  "for  themselves 
they  fought,  for  themselves  they  conquered,  and  for  them 
selves  alone  they  have  a  right  to  hold."  And  in  a  passage 
which  must  have  been  in  Henry's  mind  the  year  following, 
Jefferson  asserts  that  "the  God  that  gave  us  life  gave  us 
liberty  at  the  same  time." 


MONUMENT  AT  GRAVE  OF  JEFFERSON. 

In    grounds  of  Monticello.      The   simple 

shaft   is   admirably  in  keeping  with  his 

character. 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON 


53 


Alexander  Hamilton  (1757-1804).  —  The  Empire  State 
makes  a  noteworthy  entrance  into  the  literature  of  this 
period  with  the  writings  of  Alexander  Hamilton.  Realizing 
the  weakness  of  the  government  formed  in  1779,  Hamilton 
wrote  in  1781  a  series  of  papers  called  The  Continentalist, 
setting  forth  "that  it  is  necessary  to  augment  the  powers 
of  the  confederation." 
As  one  of  the  "  symp 
toms  of  the  evils  to 
be  apprehended "  he 
notes  that  "in  the 
midst  of  a  war  for  our 
existence  as  a  nation, 
some  of  the  states  have 
evaded,  or  refused, 
compliance  with  the 
demands  of  Congress 
in  points  of  the  great 
est  moment  to  the  com 
mon  safety."  This  was 
the  beginning  of  his 
agitation  for  a  consti 
tution  that  would  make 
a  stronger  union  of  the 
states,  —  an  agitation 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON. 


After    Trumbull's    portrait.      Original 
Museum  of  Fine  Arts,  Boston. 


in 


which    bore    fruit    in 
1787. 

Hamilton's  fame  as  a  writer  rests  chiefly  on  his  contribu 
tions  to  TJie  Federalist,  a  series  of  eighty-five  papers  written 
to  secure  ratification  of  the  Constitution  by  the  State  of  New 
York.  The  series  was  planned  by  Hamilton,  and  at  least 
fifty-one  of  the  papers  were  written  by  him.  Of  the  rest, 
fourteen  were  written  by  James  Madison  (afterwards  Presi 
dent),  five  by  John  Jay  (first  Chief  Justice  of  the  Supreme 


54  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Court),  three  by  Hamilton  and  Madison  together ;  the 
authorship  of  twelve  is  uncertain.  When  the  last  paper 
was  published,  August  15,  1788,  all  the  states  except  North 
Carolina  and  Rhode  Island  had  ratified  the  Constitution, 
Hamilton's  own  state  being  the  eleventh.  The  value  of 
TJie  Federalist  may  be  judged  by  the  fact  that  it  is  still  the 
acknowledged  authority  011  the  interpretation  of  the  Consti 
tution.  In  style  it  shows  that  America  had  not  yet  gained 
literary  independence  of  the  mother  country.  In  sonorous 
ness  of  diction  and  sentence  structure  it  emulates  Johnson 
and  Hume.  In  thought,  however,  it  is  an  altogether  origi 
nal  contribution  to  the  political  philosophy  of  the  world. 

Hamilton  became  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  under  Wash 
ington,  and  worked  out  a  satisfactory  financial  system  for 
the  new  Republic.  He  believed  in  a  strong  central  govern 
ment,  and  thus  came  into  conflict  with  Jefferson,  Secretary 
of  State,  who  championed  state  sovereignty.  Two  political 
parties  were  rapidly  developed,  the  lineal  descendants  of 
which  to-day  rest  on  the  fundamental  principles  of  Jefferson 
and  Hamilton,  however  much  these  may  have  become  com 
plicated  with  matters  of  detail. 


REVOLUTIONARY   VERSE 

Times  of  widespread  agitation  and  excitement  do  not 
usually  express  themselves  through  the  fine  arts.  Even  a 
great  poet  is  hardly  likely  to  produce  "  immortal  verse " 
when  his  country  is  absorbed  in  the  discussion  of  great 
questions  of  government ;  witness  the  few  sonnets  constitut 
ing  the  whole  of  Milton's  poetic  output  during  the  Great 
Rebellion.  Men  will,  however,  at  such  times  sing  songs  of 
defiance,  and  celebrate  the  deeds  of  heroes  in  verses  which, 
if  they  are  not  great  poetry,  have  the  merits  of  spontaneity 
and  genuine  feeling. 


REVOLUTIONARY  VERSE  55 

The  Revolution  inspired  a  multitude  of  such  productions ; 
and  a  somewhat  smaller  number  of  satiric  poems,  which 
show  plainly  the  influence  of  the  English  poets  of  the  cen 
tury.  Formal  satire  in  English  poetry  had  its  origin  with 
Dryden  (died  1700) ;  and  before  the  spirit  of  liberty  mani 
fested  itself  strongly  in  America,  this  form  of  literature 
had  reached  a  high  state  of  excellence  in  the  writings  of 
Swift,  Gay,  Johnson,  Pope,  and  a  host  of  smaller  men. 
The  works  of  these  men  held  up  to  ridicule,  not  merely  the 
fashions  and  foibles  of  the  day,  but  the  physical  and  mental 
shortcomings  of  their  enemies,  and  even  the  feelings  of  men 
for  things  most  dear  to  them.  America  produced  imitations 
even  of  this  last  class,  of  which  one  of  the  most  notable  is 
Freneau's  Emancipation  from  British  Dependence,  written  as 
a  rhymed  parody  of  the  English  litany. 

While  there  are  four  or  five  names  that  stand  higher  than 
the  rest  as  versifiers,  no  estimate  of  the  period's  output  in 
this  line  can  overlook  the  vast  number  of  anonymous  poems, 
or  the  occasional  poems  of  men  whose  vocation  was  quite 
other  than  literature.  In  the  latter  class  should  be  men 
tioned  Franklin's  The  Mother  Country,  Paine's  Liberty  Tree, 
and  the  less  known  though  not  less  meritorious  songs  of 
Joseph  Warren,  physician,  orator,  and  martyr  ; l  of  Judge 
Royall  Tyler,  of  Vermont;  and  of  Meshech  Weare,  preacher, 
lawyer,  warrior,  statesman. 

The  anonymous  poems  above  referred  to  were  thrown  off 
in  moments  of  intense  enthusiasm  caused  generally  by  some 
great  victory,  or  the  contemplation  of  some  popular  hero. 
Paul  Jones  is  a  favorite  subject  in  these,  doubtless  because 
of  his  picturesque  character  and  career;  Washington,  of 
course,  is  sung  by  many  ;  and  less  distinguished  heroes,  like 
Warren.  Marion,  and  Nathan  Hale,  are  celebrated  by  occa 
sional  rhymers.  Almost  every  great  battle  had  its  panegyr- 
'He  fell  at  Bunker  Hill. 


56  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

1st.  The  comment  that  the  unknown  authorship  of  such 
poems  is  a  blessing  to  the  authors  says  merely  that  they 
count  for  little  or  nothing  as  poetry.  They  are,  however,  of 
unquestionable  importance  as  evidence  of  the  hopes,  aspira 
tions,  and  ideals  of  the  people,  and  as  such  form  a  valuable 
supplement  to  the  prose  literature  of  the  period. 

Francis  Hopkinson  (1737-1791).  —  Of  the  chief  poets  of  the 
day,  the  first  in  time  is  an  occasional  poet  like  those  just 
named.  This  is  Francis  Hopkinson,  lawyer,  of  Pennsyl 
vania  and  New  Jersey.  He  was  much  occupied  with  public 
affairs,  serving  his  country  as  a  member  of  the  Continental 
Congress,  as  a  signer  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence, 
and  as  Judge.  He  wrote  extensively  in  prose  and  verse 
and  on  a  variety  of  subjects.  His  best-known  prose  work, 
a  political  allegory  called  A  Pretty  Story,  is  far  less  inter 
esting  to-day  than  is  his  ballad,  The  Battle  of  the  Kegs,  and 
probably  was  so  to  his  contemporaries. 

This  political-satirical  ballad  "  was  occasioned  by  a  real 
incident,"  according  to  Hopkinson.  "Certain  machines, 
in  the  form  of  kegs,  charg'd  with  gun-powder,  were  sent 
down  the  river  to  annoy  the  British  shipping  then  at  Phila 
delphia.  The  danger  of  these  machines  being  discovered, 
the  British  manned  the  wharfs  and  shipping,  and  discharged 
their  small  arms  and  cannons  at  everything  they  saw  float 
ing  in  the  river  during  the  ebb  tide."  It  is  far  from  being 
a  great  poem  —  far  from  being  even  the  best  Hopkinson 
wrote ;  but  it  is  the  one  that  brought  him  most  fame  in  his 
day,  and  probably  accomplished  much  in  the  way  of  in 
spiriting  the  colonists. 

Philip  Freneau  (1752-1832). —One  of  the  most  meritori 
ous  of  Revolutionary  poets,  and  almost  the  only  one  who 
may  be  read  to-day  for  his  own  sake,  is  Philip  Freneau, 
already  mentioned  as  a  satirist.  His  long  life  was  filled 
with  varied  activities  and  many  literary  efforts;  but  his 


PHILIP  FRENEAU 


57 


fame,  though  secure,  rests  on  a  small  number  of  genuine 
poems. 

He  was  born  in  New  York  City.  At  the  age  of  nineteen 
he  was  graduated  from  Princeton,  in  the  class  with  James 
Madison.  He  taught  school  for  a  time  after  leaving  college, 
studied  law,  made  numerous  ventures  in  journalism,  gratified 
a  love  of  the  sea  by  various  voyages  (including  one  as  a  pri- 


NASSAU  HALL,  PRINCETON. 
The  oldest  building  of  the  University. 

vateer),  and  served  a  short  term  as  translator  for  the  De 
partment  of  State  under  Jefferson.  He  early  began  to  write 
verses,  and  in  1775  wrote  the  first  of  his  political  satires. 
A  large  number  of  satirical  and  heroic  pieces  came  from  his 
pen  at  frequent  intervals  from  this  time  till  the  end  of  the 
War  of  1812. 

Freneaii's  war  poems  show  little  superiority  over  those 
of  his  contemporaries,  differing  chiefly  in  the  degree  of  bit- 


58 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


terness  expressed  toward  everything  English.  He  seems  to 
have  searched  his  dictionary  for  words  of  abuse  and  to  have 
exhausted  his  stock  in  every  two  or  three  poems.  In 
Emancipation  from  British  Dependence  (mentioned  above), 
Lord  North  is  a  "caitiff,"  the  king  has  a  "toothful  of 
brains,"  the  British  are  successively  "  scoundrels,"  "  ras 
cals,"  "  pirates,"  "  ban 
ditti/'  "butchers." 
One  poem  in  the  patri 
otic  group  —  that  to 
the  memory  of  the 
Americans  who  fell  at 
Eutaw  Springs  —  is 
free  from  this  bitter 
ness  and  coarseness, 
and  is  a  dignified  and 
noble  tribute  to  a  gal 
lant  band. 

Even  Eutaw  Springs, 
however,  would  give 
Freneau  little  claim  to 
a  firm  place  as  a  poet. 
It  is  to  a  very  differ 
ent  class  of  poems  that 
he  owes  his  distinc 
tion.  These  are  the 
nature  poems  —  TJie 

Wild  Honey  Suckle,  On  the  Sleep  of  Plants,  To  a  Caty- 
did,  On  a  Honey  Bee  —  in  which  a  new  note  is  struck 
for  poetry  in  English.  As  a  satirist,  Freneau,  like  Hop- 
kinson  and  the  rest,  was  but  following  the  traditions 
of  the  mother  country ;  but  in  this  other  field  he  was 
a  pioneer.  Not  merely  in  choice  of  subjects,  but  in  minute 
ness  of  observation  and  in  sincerity  and  accuracy  of  expres- 


PHILIP  FRENEAU. 

Sometimes  called    the   "Laureate  of  the 
Revolution . ' ' 


JOHN  TRUMBULL  59 

sion,  Freneau  deserves  a  high  place  among  the  score  of 
preeminent  nature  poets  in  the  language.  His  first  collec 
tion  appeared  in  1786  —  the  year  of  Burns's  first  volume, 
and  twelve  years  before  the  epoch-marking  Lyrical  Ballads 
of  Wordsworth  and  Coleridge.  In  variety  and  fitness  of 
rhythms,  also,  Freneau  shows  a  pioneer  spirit  and  an  inde 
pendence  of  British  models.  He  is  the  first  genuine  poet 
America  produced. 

The  "Hartford  Wits."  —  Three  poets  who  enjoyed  great 
fame  in  their  day  may  be  grouped  together  because  of  their 
connection  with  Yale  College  and  the  city  of  Hartford. 
They  were  members  of  a  larger  group,  known  as  the  "  Hart 
ford  Wits,"  who  came  nearer  forming  what  is  called  a 
"  school "  of  writers  than  any  other  body  in  America  before 
or  since,  excepting  possibly  the  "  Transcendentalists  "  a  half 
century  later.  Their  work  resembled  much  of  their  contem 
poraries'  in  tone;  but  the  satires  of  Freneau,  Hopkinson, 
and  the  host  of  lesser  men  were  spontaneous  and  unpreten 
tious,  whereas  those  of  this  celebrated  trio  were  elaborate 
performances,  following  English  models.  These  men  were 
John  Trumbull,  Timothy  Dwight,  and  Joel  Barlow. 

John  Trumbull  (1750-1831).  —  Trumbull  was  graduated 
from  Yale  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  received  his  Master's 
degree  three  years  later,  and  became  a  tutor  in  the  College. 
The  field  in  which  he  made  his  reputation  he  entered  during 
his  first  year  as  tutor,  when  he  wrote  The  Adventures  oj 
Tom  Brainless.  This  poem  is  a  satire  on  education  as  then 
carried  on  in  colleges,  where  students  are 

"  In  the  same  round  condemned  each  day 
To  study,  read,  recite,  and  pray  ;  " 

and  are  compelled  by  the  curriculum  to 

"  Gain  ancient  tongues  and  lose  their  own." 


60  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

While  connected  with  the  College,  Trumbull  urged  instruc 
tion  in  English  literature  and  composition. 

Trumbull's  greatest  work — and  the  greatest  satire  of  the 
Revolutionary  period — is  McFingal,  a  mock-heroic  poem 
written  shortly  after  Bunker  Hill  and  published  in  January, 
1776.  The  title  character  is  a  Scotch- American  magistrate 
of  Tory  sympathies,  who  lives  in  a  town  near  Boston.  Set 
over  against  him  is  Honorius  —  champion  of  the  people  — 
the  figure  supposed  to  be  drawn  from  John  Adams.  Squire 
McFingal  stands  for  "  divine  right,"  and  insists  on  the  folly 
of  attempting  resistance  to  Great  Britain.  Honorius  ap 
peals  to  the  people's  sense  of  wrong,  and  urges  them  to  a 
united  opposition  of  the  misgovernment  they  have  so  long 
endured.  In  1781-1782,  Trumbull  enlarged  the  poem  to  twice 
its  size,  concluding  it  with  the  tarring  and  feathering  of  the 
Squire,  and  the  utter  discomfiture  of  his  Tory  followers. 

Timothy  Dwight  (1752-1817).  —  Dwight  was  associated 
with  Trumbull  as  teacher  and  as  author.  Besides  these 
occupations  he  was  farmer  and  preacher,  and  for  the  last 
twenty  years  of  his  life  President  of  Yale.  Though  he  wrote 
much,  both  in  prose  and  verse,  including  a  long  religious 
satire,  The  Triumph  of  Infidelity,  his  interest  for  us  is  due  to 
one  short  poem,  beginning 

"  Columbia,  Columbia,  to  glory  arise, 
The  queen  of  the  world,  and  the  child  of  the  skies." 

This  song  does  not  impress  the  reader  of  to-day  as  a  very 
spirited  production ;  but  its  mere  preservation,  when  so 
many  similar  poems  have  disappeared,  shows  that  it  held  a 
place  in  the  people's  hearts  somewhat  like  that  held  by 
Paine's  Crisis.  In  one  respect  Dwight's  poem  deserves 
a  higher  place  than  Paine's  essay,  inasmuch  as  it  looks  be 
yond  its  own  day  of  strife  to  an  illustrious  future  for 
America. 


JOEL  BARLOW  61 

Joel  Barlow  (1754-1812).  —  Barlow,  the  youngest  of  the 
"big  three,"  is  remembered  for  his  Vision  of  Columbus, 
a  pretentious  patriotic  poem  expanded  twenty  years  later 
(1807)  into  an  epic  called  The  Columbiad.  In  this  poem 
Columbus  is  taken  from  prison  to  a  hill,  where  he  has  a 
vision  of  the  America-to-be.  It  is  written  in  heroic  couplets, 
the  standard  metrical  form  of  eighteenth  century  England, 


YALE  COLLEGE. 
From  an  old  print. 

and  in  a  high-sounding  polysyllabic  vocabulary  which  sug 
gests,  if  it  is  not  actually  modeled  on,  that  of  England's 
literary  dictator,  the  great  Samuel  Johnson. 

The  satisfaction  with  which  writings  like  those  of  the  three 
men  just  treated  were  received  by  their  contemporaries  may 
be  gathered  from  some  Lines  Addressed  to  Dwight  and 
Barloiv  by  Truiubull.  They  are  invited  to 


62  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

"  join  the  sons  of  song, 

And  scorn  the  censures  of  the  envious  throng  ; 
Prove  to  the  world,  in  these  new-dawning  skies, 
What  genius  kindles  and  what  arts  arise  ; 
All  Virtue's  friends  are  yours.     Disclose  the  lays ; 
Your  country's  heroes  claim  the  debt  of  praise  ; 
Fame  shall  assent,  and  future  years  admire. 
Barlow's  strong  flight,  and  Dwight's  Homeric  fire.1' 

Whatever  shortcomings  the  verses  of  these  men  may 
show,  their  patriotism  is  manifest  and  admirable.  Barlow, 
moreover,  served  his  country  well  in  other  ways,  notably 
while,  at  great  personal  sacrifice,  he  was  consul  at  Algiers. 
His  death  was  caused  by  exposure  when  he  was  on  his  way 
to  meet  Napoleon,  having  accepted  reluctantly  and  only 
from  a  sense  of  duty  appointment  as  commissioner  to  the 
French  emperor. 

John  Woolman  (1720-1772).  —  One  interesting  book  writ 
ten  during  the  storm  and  stress  of  the  pre-Revolution  days 
shows  none  of  the  agitation  of  soul  or  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
other  writers  discussed  in  this  chapter.  This  is  the  Journal 
of  John  Woolman,  a  Quaker  tailor  of  New  Jersey,  which 
was  strongly  commended  by  such  men  as  the  American 
Channing  and  the  Englishman  Charles  Lamb.  The  exist 
ence  of  slavery  in  America  distressed  Woolman  far  more 
than  did  the  tyranny  of  the  mother  country ;  and  he  gave 
his  life  to  working  up  a  sentiment  for  emancipation.  His 
Journal  lives,  not  for  any  great  literary  merit  it  possesses, 
but  for  the  pure  and  self-sacrificing  character  it  portrays. 
In  simplicity  and  sincerity  this  autobiographic  record  equals 
Franklin's,  and  in  loftiness  of  spirit  far  surpasses  it.  We 
never  hear  of  Poor  Richard's  going  home  "  under  a  hum 
bling  sense  of  the  gracious  dealings  of  the  Lord"  with 
him;  nor  does  he  ever  say  or  imply  that  "the  fear  of  the 
Lord  so  covered  me  at  times,  that  my  way  was  made  easier 
than  I  expected." 


THOMAS  GODFREY  63 

The  two  men  who  remain  to  be  considered  in  this  chapter 
are  distinctly  set  off  from  most  of  the  writers  contemporary 
with  them,  in  that  they  were  from  first  to  last  purely  liter 
ary  men.  Neither  of  them  seems  to  have  been  at  all  con 
cerned  with  the  great  movements  of  their  times ;  \md  their 
works  belong  to  the  realm  of  art  only,  even  though  they  may 


&&&*£> 


FACSIMILE   OB^  A  MKDITATION   OF  JOHN  WOOLMAN   ON  THE   USE   OF 
SILVER  VESSELS. 

(Courtesy  of  Dr.  Arthur  Beardsley,  Librarian  of  the  Friends'  Historical 
Library,  Swarthmore  College.    Photograph  by  Prof .  G.  A.  Hoadley.) 

not  occupy  very  high  places  in  that  realm.  These  men, 
already  mentioned  as  our  first  dramatist  and  our  first  novel 
ist,  are  Thomas  Godfrey  and  Charles  Brockden  Brown. 

Thomas  Godfrey  (1736-1763)  had  a  short  and  troubled  life. 
When  he  was  thirteen  years  of  age,  his  father,  the  Thomas 
Godfrey  of  Franklin's  "  Junto,"  died.  The  boy,  who  had 
shown  taste  for  study  and  especially  for  poetry,  was  then 
taken  from  school  and  put  to  a  trade.  When  he  became  of 
age,  he  left  this  occupation,  served  a  short  time  in  the 


64  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Pennsylvania  militia,  and  then  went  into  business  in  North 
Carolina.  Here  four  years  later  he  died  of  fever,  at  the  age 
of  twenty-seven.  His  writings,  collected  and  published  in 
Philadelphia  in  1765,  consist  of  a  small  number  of  lyrics,  a 
poem  of  500  lines  modeled  on  Chaucer  and  Pope  and  called 
The  Court  of  Fancy,  and  a  tragedy,  The  Prince  of  Parthia. 
In  one  of  his  lyrics,  TJie  Wish,  Godfrey  bespeaks  for  himself 
the  place  which  he  seems  to  have  obtained : 

"  I  only  ask  a  mod' rate  fate, 
And  tho'  not  in  obscurity, 
I  would  not  yet  be  placed  too  high  ; 
Between  the  two  extremes  I'd  be, 
Not  meanly  low,  nor  yet  too  great, 
From  both  contempt  and  envy  free." 

It  is  possibly  true  that  Godfrey's  name  is  kept  alive  by 
the  sentimental  interest  attaching  to  the  author  of  the  first 
drama  written  in  America.  Its  scene,  as  the  title  indicates, 
is  laid  in  the  East,  and  the  play  itself  is  of  little  intrinsic 
merit.  The  story  concerns  the  love  of  the  king  (Artabanus) 
and  his  two  sons  (Arsaces  and  Vardanes)  for  the  beautiful 
captive  (Evan the) ;  and  the  consequent  jealousy  and  in 
trigues  of  these  three  and  the  queen  (Thermusa).  In  the 
end  Artabanus  is  murdered,  Evanthe  takes  poison,  and 
Arsaces  (her  betrothed)  dies  by  his  own  hand.  The  story 
lacks  originality,  the  language  and  versification  furnish  much 
evidence  of  imitation ;  yet  the  play  has  some  strong  scenes, 
and  is,  in  the  opinion  of  Professor  Tyler,  "  a  noble  beginning 
of  dramatic  literature  in  America." 

Beyond  this  distinction  as  dramatist,  Godfrey  shows  real 
lyric  power.  The  song  in  The  Prince  of  Parthia,  Act  V, 
beginning 

"  Tell  me,  Phyllis,  tell  me  why, 
You  appear  so  wondrous  coy," 


CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN       65 

and  the  juvenile  compositions  addressed  to  Celia,  Amyntor, 
and  Corinna,  give  quite  as  much  promise  as  does  the  drama. 
They  contain  many  suggestions  of  his  English  masters  of 
the  seventeenth  century  —  Herrick,  Wither,  and  the  Cavalier 
Poets,  but  they  are  far  from  being  servile  copies. 

CHARLES   BROCKDEN   BROWN,    1771-1810 

A  Romancer  of  Distinction.  —  Charles  Brockden  Brown 
performed  his  literary  work  with  the  handicap,  not  of 
poverty  or  lack  of  education,  but  of  a  delicate  constitution. 
His  career,  like  the  careers  of  Godfrey,  Paine,  Franklin,  and 
Hopkinson,  belongs  to  Philadelphia,  and  he  used  that  city 
and  the  country  surrounding  it  as  scenes  for  his  novels.  It 
is  with  these  works  only  that  the  student  of  Brown  is  con 
cerned,  though  he  wrote  political  essays,  magazine  criticism, 
and  much  other  hack-work. 

The  novels  or  romances,  six  in  number,  were  written  be 
tween  1798  and  1801.  Their  titles  are :  Wieland,  or,  Tlie 
Transformation;  Arthur  Mervyn,  or,  Memories  of  the  Year 
1793;  Edgar  Huntly,  or,  Memoirs  of  a  Sleep  Walker; 
Ormond,  or,  The  Secret  Witness;  Clara  Howard,  or,  The 
Enthusiasm  of  Love;  and  Jane  Talbot.  Brown  was  not  the 
first  American  to  write  novels,  but  he  was  the  first  to  attain 
distinction  in  this  line,  and  he  is  the  only  one  before  Cooper 
whose  works  are  of  importance  to-day. 

These  stories  have  many  points  in  common.  They  are  so 
loosely  put  together  that  it  is  actually  difficult  to  follow  the 
development  of  the  plot.  They  are  tragic  stories,  full  of  the 
mysterious  and  the  terrible.  On  the  side  of  style  they  are 
marked  by  objectionable  mannerisms  both  in  vocabulary  and 
sentence  structure.  Most  of  the  characters  are  not  only 
complex,  but  puzzling — we  find  them  difficult  to  under 
stand.  Against  these  faults,  however,  may  be  set  some 


66 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


positive  merits.  Brown  narrates  single  incidents  with  tell 
ing  effect ;  and  in  spite  of  long-drawn-out  passages  he  holds 
the  reader's  interest  throughout.  He  gave  the  American 

Indian  a  place  in 
romantic  fiction. 
His  stories  have  a 
uniformly  high 
moral  tone.  It  is 
also  to  his  credit 
that  he  had  suffi 
cient  confidence  in 
his  ability  and  in 
the  public  to  adopt 
literature  as  his  pro 
fession —  he  was  the 
first  American  to  do 
this. 

Plots.  —  The  char 
acter  of  the  stories 
may  be  indicated 
briefly.  The  plot  of 
Wieland  .  turns  on 
the  exercise  of  the 
power  of  ventrilo- 
quism,  which 
through  the  mere 
heedlessness  of  the 
possessor  causes 
wife-murder,  mad 
ness,  and  suicide.  Arthur  Mervyn  and  Ormond  are  chiefly 
concerned  with  yellow  fever  epidemics  in  Philadelphia  and 
New  York,  with  all  the  horrors  of  poor  hospitals,  incompetent 
attendants,  and  criminally  ignorant  and  negligent  officials. 
Edgar  Huntly  (subtitle,  "Memoirs  of  a  Sleep  Walker")  deals 


CENOTAPH  OF  CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN. 
In  Laurel  Hill  Cemetery,  Philadelphia. 


BROWN'S  LITERARY  VALUE  67 

really  with  two  sleep  walkers,  both  of  whom  go  through 
extraordinary  and  mysterious  adventures,  and  one  of  whom, 
like  Wieland,  ends  his  stormy  career  in  madness  and 
suicide.  The  element  of  suspense  is  strong,  and  surprises 
are  frequent. 

Style.  —  Among  his  mannerisms  of  style  is  the  over-fre 
quent  use  of  certain  favorite  words,  often  in  unusual  senses. 
An  example  that  will  strike  the  reader  of  any  of  these 
stories  is  "  bereave."  The  hero  of  Edgar  Huntly  is  "  be 
reaved"  of  the  use  of  his  limbs,  "bereaved"  of  sense,  "be 
reaved  of  strength,"  "  bereaved  of  the  power  to  walk  "  ;  and 
an  Indian  he  shoots  is  "  bereaved  of  sensation  though  not 
of  life."  In  other  stories  persons  are  "  bereft "  of  all  satis 
faction,  of  understanding,  of  activity,  of  affectionate  regards, 
etc.  Another  mannerism  is  a  wearisome  tendency  to  what 
may  be  called  the  polysyllabic  style.  "  It  was  obvious  to 
conclude  that  his  disease  was  pestilential " ;  "  His  aspect 
was  embellished  with  good  nature,  though  indicative  of 
ignorance  "  ;  "  He  promised  to  maintain  with  me  an  episto 
lary  intercourse."  Of  Brown's  most  noticeable  peculiarity 
in  sentence  structure  —  an  excessive  use  of  the  rhetorical 
question,  especially  in  series  —  a  single  example  will  suffice. 
"  How,  I  asked,  might  he  regard  her  claims  ?  In  what 
light  would  he  consider  that  engagement  of  the  understand 
ing,  rather  than  of  the  heart,  into  which  I  had  entered? 
How  far  would  he  esteem  it  proper  to  adhere  to  it  ?  and 
what  efforts  might  he  make  to  dissolve  it  ?  " 

Brown's  Literary  Value.  —  One  errs  in  attributing  to  Brown, 
as  does  the  writer  of  the  "  Memoir "  prefixed  to  Wieland, 
"  superior  genius  and  profound  knowledge."  The  reader 
who  comes  to  any  one  of  Brown's  romances  expecting  to 
find  either  of  these  will  be  disappointed.  He  will  find  a 
gloomy  and  sometimes  exciting  story,  of  peculiar  if  not 
puzzling  people,  who  talk  in  rather  high-flown  language,  and 


68  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

whose  conversation  is  often  enigmatical.  He  will  find  a 
narrative  that  "  gets  going  "  in  fewer  pages  than  do  many 
of 'Cooper's  or  Scott's,  and  that  seldom  lets  the  reader's 
interest  flag.  If  he  brings  to  the  reading  a  recollection  of 
the  times  in  which  the  author  wrote,  the  romance  will  gain 
the  additional  interest  that  attaches  to  all  pioneer  or  inde 
pendent  work.  The  novel  as  a  literary  form  was  young  in 
England,  and  in  America  still  in  its  infancy.  Few  Americans 
had  written  literature  for  its  own  sake.  Add  to  these  cir 
cumstances  the  fact  that  the  English  poet  Shelley  and  his 
wife  were  admittedly  influenced  by  Brown,  and  the  proba 
bility  that  Poe  and  Hawthorne  were  also,  and  it  will  be 
seen  that  he  has  an  importance  in  literature  on  other  than 
historical  grounds. 


CHAPTER   III 

FROM   IRVING   TO    THE    END    OF   THE    CIVIL   WAR, 
1809-1865 

Introduction.  —  According  to  Brander  Matthews  "  it  would 
be  possible  to  maintain  the  thesis  that  American  literature 
began  in  1809  with  the  publication  of  living's  Knickerbocker's 
History  of  New  York."  This  is  true  only  if  one  takes  liter 
ature  in  the  restricted  sense  mentioned  on  page  1 ;  and  else 
where  Professor  Matthews  admits  that  "not  a  few  of  the 
early  state  papers  of  our  country  have  literary  merit  in  a 
high  degree."  If  we  omitted  from  our  literary  history  the 
authors  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  The  Crisis,  The 
Federalist,  Liberty  or  Death,  we  should  be  unable  to  defend 
the  inclusion  of  several  names  found  in  the  present  chapter. 
Webster  and  Lincoln  hold  a  higher  place  in  literature, 
doubtless,  than  do  Jefferson  and  Hamilton;  but  no  one  of 
the  four  was  much  concerned  with  "beauty  of  form  or 
emotional  effect."  They  addressed  the  intellect  as  "  a  clear, 
cold,  logic  engine  " ;  yet  Irving,  Cooper,  Bryant,  Poe,  and 
Hawthorne  are  not  more  sure  of  places  in  American  litera 
ture  of  this  period  than  are  Webster  and  Lincoln. 

Literature  as  well  as  politics  —  indeed,  the  whole  life  of 
the  American  people  down  to  the  end  of  1865  —  was  domi 
nated  by  the  slavery  question.  Not  only  in  the  halls  of 
Congress  does  this  appear.  Poetry  and  fiction  were  devoted 
to  abolition  ;  the  lyceum  platform  took  it  up;  journalism  of 
every  kind  was  given  over  to  it ;  newspapers  and  magazines 

69 


70  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

came  into  existence  solely  to  attack  slavery.  The  defense 
of  the  institution  was  left  to  the  orators,  who  formally  de 
fended,  not  slavery,  but  a  principle  of  government.  The 
discussion  involved  a  question  which  had  divided  the  very 
founders  of  the  government,  as  noted  above  in  our  sketch 
of  Hamilton.  This  question  was  whether  the  United  States 
of  America  was  a  league  of  sovereign  states,  or  an  indissol 
uble  union  of  the  people.  On  this  question  the  country 
divided  in  such  a  way  as  to  involve  even  purely  literary 
men.  Foe  thought  he  saw  in  Lowell's  Fable  for  Critics  a 
criticism  of  the  South;  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  Haw 
thorne's  death  was  hastened  by  grief  over  the  war. 

With  the  entrance  of  Irving,  "  the  first  ambassador  whom 
the  New  World  of  Letters  sent  to  the  Old,"  1  American  lit 
erature  takes  its  place  among  the  literatures  of  the  world. 
It  does  not,  of  course,  rank  with  that  of  the  mother  country, 
or  of  the  leading  nations  of  Europe;  but  from  this  time  it 
claimed  writers  and  writings  which  are  received  with  en 
thusiasm  in  the  older  countries.  When  Irving  received  an 
honorary  degree  at  Oxford,  the  auditorium  rang  with  shouts 
of  "  Geoffrey  Crayon  !  "  «  Diedrich  Knickerbocker !  "  «  Rip 
Van  Winkle!"  Emerson,  Foe,  and  Cooper  were  all  ac 
claimed  by  England,  and  the  last  two  by  France,  as  names 
destined  to  permanent  high  places  in  literature.  From  the 
time  of  the  Sketch  Book  there  were  several  answers  to  the 
contemptuous  query  of  Sydney  Smith,  an  English  critic, 
"  Who  reads  an  American  book  ?" 

English  literature  during  the  first  quarter  of  the  nine 
teenth  century  attained  an  excellence  surpassed  only  by  the 
great  Elizabethan  age.  It  was  the  age  of  Romanticism,  of 
which  the  chief  characteristics  were  a  revolt  against  tradi 
tion,  a  breaking  away  from  the  hard  and  fast  rules  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  an  emphasis  on  individuality.  Words- 

1  Thackeray,  in  Nil  Nisi  Bonum. 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  71 

worth,  the  philosopher-poet  of  Nature;  Byron  and  Shelley, 
poets  of  social  rebellion ;  Scott,  the  great  historical  romancer  ; 
Lamb,  Hazlitt,  DeQnincey,  writers  of  new  kinds  of  essays  :  — 
these  men  and  many  others  who  made  the  age  great  had 
little  in  common  but  "  an  impatience  of  routine  thinking." 
This  phrase  was  first  used  of  the  so-called  "  transcendental " 
movement  in  America,  which  was  really  but  a  belated  mani 
festation  of  the  English  Romantic  movement.  Some  of  the 
American  writers  show  resemblances  to  these  English  ones  — 
Bryant  to  Wordsworth,  for  example,  and  Cooper  to  Scott ; 
but  they  were  American  to  the  bone,  and  it  is  a  great  mis 
take  to  lay  stress  on  the  resemblances. 

It  has  been  said  that  American  literature  even  of  this 
period  falls  below  that  of  England.  The  fact  hardly  calls 
for  comment.  The  best  thought  of  America  was  concerning 
itself  with  "  one  of  the  greatest  political  experiments  in  the 
history  of  the  world  " ;  and  in  America  "  literature  and  the 
elegant  arts  [had  to]  grow  up  side  by  side  with  the  coarser 
plants  of  daily  necessity ;  and  [had  to]  depend  for  their 
culture  on  hours  and  seasons  snatched  from  the  pursuit  of 
worldly  interests  by  intelligent  and  public-spirited  individ 
uals."  So  wrote  Irving  in  1819.  It  is  no  small  cause  for 
pride  that  with  such  drawbacks  to  accomplishment  in  the 
fine  arts  America  should,  by  the  middle  of  the  century,  have 
given  half  a  score  of  names  to  the  roll  of  the  world's  great 
literary  figures. 

WASHINGTON   IRVING,    1783-1859 

The  "  Knickerbocker  "  Writers.  —  In  the  early  colonial  days, 
as  we  have  seen,  New  England  and  Virginia  held  the  undis 
puted  supremacy  in  such  literature  as  America  produced. 
Near  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century  the  Middle 
States  came  into  prominence  with  Franklin,  and  Phila- 


72 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


delphia  was  the  literary  center  for  about  fifty  years.  With 
Irving  the  leadership  shifts  again ;  and  for  a  quarter  of  a 
century  New  York  City  takes  the  place  of  Philadelphia. 
Irving,  Bryant,  and  Cooper  were  the  chief  of  the  "  Knicker 
bocker  Writers,"  whom  we  must  consider  before  taking  up 

the  literature  of  the 
slavery  struggle.  The 
designation  applied  to 
this  group  comes  from 
"Diedrich  Knicker 
bocker,"  the  pretended 
author  of  Irving's 
comic  history  of  New 
York,  to  be  discussed 
a  few  pages  later.  Says 
Warner:  "This  little 
man  in  knee-breeches 
and  cocked  hat  was 
the  germ  of  the  whole 
1  Knickerbocker  leg 
end/  a  fantastic  crea 
tion,  which  in  a  man 
ner  took  the  place  of 
history,  and  stamped 
upon  the  commercial 
metropolis  of  the  New 
World  the  indelible 
Knickerbocker  name 
and  character ;  and  even  now  in  the  city  it  is  an  undefined 
patent  of  nobility  to  trace  descent  from  'an  old  Knicker 
bocker  family.' "  Of  the  Knickerbockers,  Irving  was  first 
in  point  of  age  and  first  to  appear  as  author. 

Irving  Begins  Writing  Early.  —  Washington   Irving   was 
born  in  New  York,  April  3,  1783,  nearly  eight  months  be- 


WASHINGTON  IRVING. 
The  "  Father  of  American  Literature.' 


'  SALMAGUNDI  "  73 

fore  its  evacuation  by  the  British.  At  the  age  of  sixteen, 
after  a  very  aimless,  unrestricted  childhood,  he  entered  a 
law  office,  and  began  reading —  anything  but  law,  for  which 
he  had  no  taste.  Three  years  afterwards  he  took  a  position 
in  the  employ  of  a  Mr.  Hoffman,  whose  name  we  shall  hear 
again.  In  the  same  year  he  began,  though  he  little  sus 
pected  it,  his  literary  career,  writing  for  his  brother  Peter's 
Morning  Chronicle  a  series  of  satirical  letters  on  the  theaters 
of  the  day  over  the  signature  "  Jonathan  Oldstyle."  While 
these  compositions  are  admittedly  imitations  of  Addison, 
while  they  fell  far  short  of  the  excellence  of  Irving's 
later  works,  and  while  they  do  not  proclaim  a  new  genius, 
they  are  clever  "take-offs"  on  the  foibles  of  actors  and 
audiences,  and  are  to-day  entertaining  reading  for  their 
own  sake. 

Europe;  "Salmagundi."  —  From  May,  1804,  to  February, 
1806,  Irving  was  in  Europe.  He  spent  time  enough  in  each 
place  visited  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  notable  per 
sonages  there,  and  was  well  received  everywhere.  Return 
ing,  he  continued  his  social  triumphs,  not  only  in  his  native 
New  York,  but  in  Philadelphia,  Baltimore,  and  Washington 
as  well.  Shortly  after  his  return,  Irving's  second  literary 
venture  was  begun,  a  semimonthly  periodical  written  in 
conjunction  with  his  brother  William  and  James  K.  Pauld- 
ing,  and  called  Salmagundi,1  or,  The  Whimwhams  and  Opin 
ions  of  Launcelot  Langstaff,  Esq.,  and  Others.  Its  intention 
was  "  simply  to  instruct  the  young,  reform  the  old,  correct 
the  town,  and  castigate  the  age,"  by  presenting  "  a  striking 
picture  of  the  town."  It  was  a  great  success,  but  is  rather 
dull  reading  to-day.  Again  imitating  the  Spectator,  Irving 
is  less  entertaining  than  that  publication  or  even  than  his 
own  Oldstyle,  chiefly  because  his  sketches  run  to  too  great 

1  A  salmagundi  was  originally  an  Italian  salad.  As  used  by  Irving  it 
means  a  medley  or  miscellany. 


74  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

length.  Twenty  numbers  of  Salmagundi  were  published, 
after  which  it  was  discontinued  without  a  stated  reason. 

"  Knickerbocker's  History."  —  In  December,  1809,  appeared 
A  History  of  New  York,  by  Diedrich  Knickerbocker,  the  work 
which  established  Irving's  position  as  a  writer,  and  which 
brought  American  literature  the  recognition  abroad  already 
referred  to  (page  70).  Planned  as  a  parody  on  a  learned 
Picture  of  Netv  York,  published  shortly  before,  it  took  shape 
in  the  author's  mind  as  an  independent  work.  Irving  led 
up  to  its  publication  in  an  altogether  original  manner.  For 
some  weeks  in  advance  notices  were  inserted  in  a  New 
York  paper  setting  forth  that  "a  small  elderly  gentleman 
...  by  the  name  of  Knickerbocker  "  had  left  his  lodgings 
in  the  city  without  paying  his  bill ;  that  the  landlord  be 
lieved  the  old  man  "not  entirely  in  his  right  mind";  that 
he  had  left  in  his  room  "  a  very  curious  kind  of  a  written 
book,"  which  the  landlord  intended  to  sell  unless  the  owner 
returned  and  settled  his  account. 

Although  the  History  begins  with  the  creation  of  the 
world,  the  main  portion  of  it  is,  in  Irving's  words,  "  a  comic 
history  of  the  city  "  during  "  the  period  of  the  Dutch  dom 
ination";  and  the  chief  object  of  it  was  "to  embody  the 
traditions  of  our  city  in  an  amusing  form;  to  illustrate  its 
local  humors,  customs  and  peculiarities."  Thus  it  will  be 
seen  that  it  was  not  very  different  in  substance  from  the 
Oldstyle  Letters  or  Salmagundi.  To  give  it  a  more  realistic 
appearance  it  was  dedicated  to  the  New  York  Historical 
Society.  While  some  readers  were  puzzled  at  first,  the  real 
character  of  the  book  soon  became  plain,  and  it  met  with 
immediate  and  phenomenal  success,  in  England  as  well  as 
in  America,  Sir  Walter  Scott  being  one  of  the  first  great 
writers  across  the  water  to  express  high  appreciation  of  it. 

Before  the  Knickerbocker  History  was  published,  Irving 
experienced  a  great  sorrow,  from  which  he  never  wholly 


SECOND  TRIP  TO  EUROPE  75 

recovered.  This  was  the  death  of  his  fiancee,  Matilda 
Hoffman,  daughter  of  the  attorney  in  whose  office  he  had 
been  employed  for  a  time.  Miss  Hoffman  was,  according  to 
all  testimony,  a  thoroughly  attractive  and  admirable  girl, 
and  her  marriage  with  Irving  only  awaited  his  choice  of  a 
vocation  that  promised  a  living.  All  admired  her ;  says 
he:  "I  idolized  her."  For  a  time  Irving  was  inconsolable, 
seemed  more  than  ever  unable  to  settle  on  a  career ;  and 
even  the  remarkable  success  of  Knickerbocker  did  not  fix  his 
determination  to  enter  the  field  of  letters. 

Second  Trip  to  Europe.  —  For  the  ensuing  six  years  he  did 
nothing  systematic,  remunerative,  or  likely  to  increase  his 
reputation.  He  became  a  partner  with  his  brothers  in 
business  on  terms  which  gave  him  little  work  and  a  living ; 
he  wrote  a  biographical  sketch  of  the  English  poet  Camp 
bell  ;  he  edited  for  a  while  a  magazine  in  which  some  of  the 
Sketch  Book  essays  appeared.  In  May,  1815,  he  went 
abroad  for  a  short  visit,  but  remained  seventeen  years. 

The  first  five  years  were  spent  in  England,  during  which 
time  his  firm  failed,  and  his  career  was  settled.  Declining 
several  positions  on  English  magazines,  he  went  to  London, 
and  began  work  at  his  own  risk.  After  the  success  of  the 
Sketch  Book  in  America  (1819),  which  "  almost  appalled " 
him,  he  brought  it  out  in  England,  where  it  sold  nearly  as 
well  as  in  his  own  country.  His  literary  success  was  fol 
lowed  by  the  same  social  success  that  he  had  met  with  else 
where.  Like  Lowell  at  a  later  period,  and  unlike  Hawthorne, 
Irving  made  the  acquaintance  of  great  men  and  women 
everywhere,  and  became  a  general  favorite.  In  Paris,  where 
he  went  in  1820,  his  English  experience  was  repeated ;  in 
fact,  he  felt  that  there  was  too  much  society  for  literary 
advancement. 

In  1822  appeared  Bracebridge  Hall,  a  collection  somewhat 
similar  in  plan  to  the  Sketch  Book,  but  not  so  meritorious 


76  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

or  making  so  wide  an  appeal.  The  series  deals  with  an  old 
English  country  place,  where  the  author  had  previously 
laid  the  scenes  of  his  Christmas  stories  in  the  Sketch  Book. 
The  opening  and  closing  sketches  are  oimilar  to  those  in 
the  earlier  work,1  and  at  least  two  of  the  stories  —  The  Stout 
Gentleman  and  Dolph  Heyliger  —  are  in  Irving's  best  style. 
Two  years  later  came  Tales  of  a  Traveller,  a  collection  con 
taining  some  of  Irving's  most  interesting  and  effective 
stories.  The  best  of  these  are  in  a  group  called  The  Money- 
Diggers,  tales  "  found  among  the  papers  of  the  late  Diedrich 
Knickerbocker,"  in  which  he  returns  to  the  field  and  style 
of  Rip  Van  Winkle.  The  best  in  this  group,  and  perhaps 
the  best  Irving  wrote  anywhere,  is  The  Devil  and  Tom 
Walker,  a  tale  of  a  miserly  fellow  living  near  Boston,  who 
made  a  bargain  with  "  Old  Scratch."  Tom  made  a  fortune 
by  usury,  as  directed  by  his  master ;  but  at  his  mysterious 
death,  it  was  found  that  his  wealth  had  been  reduced  to 
cinders,  chips,  and  shavings. 

Life  and  Writings  in  Spain.  —  In  February,  1826,  Irving, 
being  drawn  to  write  a  life  of  Columbus,  went  to  Spain  to 
obtain  information  at  first  hand,  and  remained  there  nearly 
three  years.  While  in  Spain  he  wrote  not  only  the  life  of 
Columbus,  but  in  addition  The  Conquest  of  Granada,  and 
The  Voyages  of  the  Companions  of  Columbus.  He  also 
gathered  material  for  The  Alhambra,  a  Spanish  sketch-book, 
the  record  of  a  stay  of  some  months  in  the  famous  old 
palace  of  the  Moors.  The  Alhambra  has  all  the  qualities 
of  the  Sketch  Book  and  Tales  of  a  Traveller  that  attract 
young  readers.  History  and  legend  are  skillfully  mingled 
with  descriptive  sketches  and  narratives  of  the  author's 
experiences  in  this  romantic  country. 

1  In  the  Sketch  Book  the  titles  are :  The  Author's  Account  of  Himself 
and  L' Envoy ;  in  Bracebridge  Hall :  The  Author,  and  The  Author's 
Farewell- 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  IN  SPAIN 


77 


FACSIMILE  OF  A  PAGE  OF  IRV ING'S  LIFE  OF  COLUMBUS. 
(Library  of  Congress.) 


78 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


In  the  latter  part  of  1829  Irving  was  offered  the  position 
of  Secretary  of  Legation  in  London,  which  he  accepted 
somewhat  against  his  will.  It  is  true  that  before  leaving 
America  he  had  political  aspirations  for  a  time  ;  but  he  now 
had  various  literary  projects,  and  feared  that  this  new 
employment  would  interfere  with  them.  His  former 
triumph,  literary  and  social,  was  repeated,  with  the  addi 
tion  of  two  great  distinctions  —  the  award  of  one  of  two 
gold  medals  of  the  Royal  Society  of  Literature,  and  the 
degree  of  Doctor  of  Civil  Law  from  the  University  of 
Oxford. 


SUNNYSIDK. 

Irving's  home  near  Tarrytown,  now  a  suburb  of  New  York  City. 

Return  to  America.  —  May,  1832,  brought  his  long  foreign 
sojourn  to  a  close.  His  reception  in  America  was  worthy 
of  a  national  hero.  A  public  banquet  in  New  York  formed 
part  of  this  reception,  and  other  cities  sought  opportunity 
to  celebrate  his  return  in  the  same  fashion  —  testimonials 


LIFE  AT  SUNNYSIDE  79 

which  the  diffident  author  felt  compelled  to  decline.  He 
wished,  however,  to  get  acquainted  with  more  of  his  native 
country,  and  for  that  purpose  made  a  lengthy  tour  of  the 
South  and  West,  the  literary  fruit  of  which  was  three  books 
—  A  Tour  of  the  Prairies,  Astoria  (an  account  of  the  attempt 
to  establish  a  settlement  at  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia 
River),  and  The  Adventures  of  Captain  Bonneville.  On  his 
return  East,  he  purchased  a  small  place  on  the  Hudson  near 
Tarrytown,  a  short  distance  from  New  York  City,  which  he 
named  "  Sunny  side  "  ;  and  there  he  lived  for  the  next  ten 
years.  Other  works  written  at  this  time  are  Recollections 
of  Abbotsford  and  Newstead  Abbey  (the  homes  oT  Scott  and 
Byron)  ;  and  Legends  of  the  Conquest  of  Spain,  a  supplement 
to  The  Conquest  of  Granada. 

Minister  to  Spain.  —  There  came  in  this  happy  Sunnyside 
life  a  break,  which  Irving  regretted  much,  but  which 
seemed  unavoidable  —  his  appointment  by  President  Tyler 
in  1842  as  Minister  to  Spain.  The  Senate  enthusiastically 
confirmed  the  appointment,  and  it  was  received  with  uni 
versal  approval.  Irving  accepted  it  because  he  saw  in  it 
an  honor,  not  merely  to  himself,  but  to  the  profession  of 
letters.  His  previous  residence  in  Spain,  and  his  diplo 
matic  experience  in  England,  fitted  him  eminently  for  the 
position ;  and  he  performed  his  duties  with  great  credit  to 
himself  and  to  his  country. 

Life  at  Sunnyside.  —  At  the  end  of  his  term  in  Madrid 
(1846)  Irving  returned  to  Sunnyside.  Here  he  made  a 
home,  not  only  for  himself,  but  for  his  two  dependent 
brothers  and  for  a  number  of  nieces;  and  here  he  lived 
most  happily  for  the  remainder  of  his  life,  which  came  to  a 
close  November  28,  1859,  in  his  seventy-seventh  year.  The 
last  thirteen  years  were  productive  and  profitable  ones.  He 
wrote  Wolfert's  Roost  (roost  meaning  "rest"),  a  collection 
of  miscellaneous  essays ;  and  three  biographies  —  Gold- 


80  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

smith,  Mahomet  and  his  Successors,  and  Washington.  Foi 
them  and  the  copyright  on  his  previous  writings  he  re 
ceived  nearly  $100,000.  Of  the  biographies  the  Goldsmith 
is  the  most  entertaining,  and  naturally ;  for  the  biographer 
and  his  subject  had  many  points  of  resemblance  which  gave 
an  advantage  in  interpretation.  The  Life  of  Washington, 
which  was  not  completed  until  his  last  year,  represents  a 
great  amount  of  careful  investigation,  and  has  all  the  char 
acteristic  charms  of  the  author's  other  works ;  but  it  is  not 
a  great  piece  of  historical  research.  In  other  words,  it  is, 
as  one  would  expect  it  to  be,  popular  rather  than  scholarly. 

Characteristics.  —  The  chief  element  of  charm  in  Irving's 
writings  is  the  character  of  the  man  himself  displayed  on 
nearly  every  page.  He  was  an  idealist,  like  Scott.  He 
had  a  sympathetic  nature,  and  was  devoted  to  his  large 
circle  of  friends.  "  His  predominant  traits  were  humor 
and  sentiment "  ;  and  these  touched  people,  places,  and  in 
stitutions  of  the  past  so  as  to  make  them  live  again.  "  Of 
England,"  says  Warner,  "  whose  traditions  kindled  his  sus 
ceptible  fancy,  he  wrote  as  Englishmen  would  like  to  write 
about  it."  And  he  showed,  as  a  contemporary  poet1  also 
tried  to  show,  that  America  presented  possibilities  of  fanci 
ful  treatment  to  the  man  who  knew  where  to  look  for  them. 

One  other  fact  should  be  mentioned  before  leaving  Irving 
—  his  accomplishment  in  the  field  of  the  short-story.2  He 
had  not  the  sense  of  form  possessed  by  Poe  or  Hawthorne ; 
but  Rip  Van  Winkle,  The  Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow,  Tlie 
Devil  and  Tom  Walker,  The  Bold  Dragoon,  and  many  others 
in  his  several  collections  stand  as  admirable  examples  of 
this  literary  type,  especially  when  compared  with  the  feeble 

1  Drake,  in  The  Culprit  Fay  ;  see  page  102. 

2  The  coining  of  this  compound   is  due  to  Professor  Matthews,  who 
wished  to  differentiate  this  form  sharply  from  the  "  novelette."     See  his 
Philosophy  of  the  Short-story. 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT 


81 


efforts  which  preceded  him.     Irving  may  with  justice  be 
called  the  originator  of  the  modern  short-story. 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT,    1794-1878 

Journalist  and  Poet.  —  More  than  half  of  Bryant's  life  was 
passed  as  editor  of  a  great  metropolitan  newspaper.  But 
the  work  for  which  he 
has  a  place  in  Ameri 
can  literature  was  pro 
duced  in  the  quiet  of  a 
home  as  far  removed 
as  possible  from  the 
confusion  and  noise  of 
the  city.  Poetry  was 
his  avocation,  a  part 
of  his  home  life,  and 
quite  separate  from  his 
business,  which  he  at 
tended  to  only  in  his 
office.  There  he  kept 
long  hours,  and  there 
he  exerted  an  influence 
that  placed  his  paper 
in  the  front  rank  —  a 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


position  it  still   holds. 

In    view  of   this   very 

real    separation   of  his   outward   life  from  his  inward,  we 

shall   first   state, the   chief  facts   in   his  career,  and   then 

consider  his  poetic  output. 

Early  Life  in  New  England.  —  Bryant  was  born  in  Cum- 
mington,  Massachusetts,  November  3, 1794.  On  his  mother's 
side  he  was  a  descendant,  as  was  Longfellow,  of  John  and 
Priscilla  Ahlen,  immortalized  in  the  later  poet's  Courtship 


82  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

of  Miles  Standish.  His  father  arid  grandfather  were  country 
doctors.  William  was  a  precocious  child,  being  able  to 
read  at  the  age  of  three  ;  and  his  early  interest  in  books 
was  wisely  encouraged  by  his  father.  After  private  prepa 
ration  in  the  homes  of  neighboring  ministers,  he  entered  the 
sophomore  class  of  Williams  College  when  he  was  fifteen. 
Before  the  year  ended  Bryant  left  Williams,  and  began 
private  study  to  enter  the  Junior  class  at  Yale  the  following 
year.  Financial  difficulties  of  the  family  prevented  the 
carrying  out  of  this  plan,  and  his  academic  training  ended 
with  the  short  term  at  Williams. 

After  some  hesitation,  Bryant  took  up  the  study  of  law, 
as  Irving  had  done,  simply  because  it  offered  the  best 
chance  for  a  livelihood  to  a  man  of  studious  tastes.  He 
was  admitted  to  the  bar  in  1816,  and  practiced  nine  years. 
In  1820  his  father  died,  an  event  which  he  commemorated 
in  the  latter  part  of  the  Hymn  to  Death.  The  following 
summer  he  married  Miss  Frances  Fairchild,  daughter  of  a 
neighboring  farmer  ;  and  for  more  than  forty  years  she  was 
"  the  brightness  of  his  life." 

Residence  in  New  York.  —  The  law  was  exceedingly  dis 
tasteful  to  him,  and  there  was  no  living  to  be  got  out  of  his 
passion  for  the  fields,  the  flowers,  the  birds  — a  passion 
which  had  manifested  itself  early  in  him,  and  which  re 
ceived  further  impetus  by  his  reading  of  Wordsworth.  An 
opportunity  that  promised  well  offered  itself  in  1825,  the 
position  of  associate  editor  of  a  magazine  in  New  York  City. 
He  accepted,  and  from  that  time  made  his  home  in  the  great 
city.  The  magazine  failed  in  less  than  a  year,  and  Bryant 
again  turned  to  law.  In  a  few  months,  however,  another 
editorial  position  came  to  him  —  on  the  staff  of  the  Evening 
Post.  In  1829  he  became  editor-in-chief,  continuing  in  that 
capacity  until  his  death  forty-nine  years  later.  Through 
the  columns  of  this  paper  Bryant  exerted  great  influence  on 


RESIDENCE  IN  NEW  YORK 


83 


the  city,  the  state,  and  the  nation.  It  was  he  who  first 
suggested  the  creation  of  Central  Park,  a  proposition  re 
ceived,  strange  to  tell,  with  bitter  opposition  by  many  self- 
constituted  "watch-dogs  of  the  treasury."  The  Post  was 
independent  in  politics,  supporting  good  men  and  measures 
regardless  of  their  party  affiliations  or  origin.  In  the  presi 
dential  campaign  of  1876,  Bryant  threw  the  Post's  influence 


BRYANT'S  HOME  AT  ROSLYN,  L.I. 
A  charming  retreat  from  the  noise  and  cares  of  the  city. 

to  Hayes  because  he  thought  the  Republican  platform  and 
intentions  better  than  those  of  the  Democrats,  although 
Tilden  was  a  valued  personal  friend  of  the  editor  and  much 
admired  by  him.  Of  the  influence  of  Bryant's  example, 
John  Bigelow,  associate  editor  of  the  paper  for  eleven  years, 
says :  "  Years  after  I  had  retired  from  the  profession,  when 
puzzled  about  a  question  of  duty  or  propriety,  I  would 
instinctively  ask  myself,  '  How  would  Bryant  act  in  this 


84  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

case  ?  '  I  always  and  promptly  received  a  most  satisfactory 
answer." 

In  the  years  1834-1836  Bryant  made  the  first  of  his  six 
tours  of  Europe.  He  enjoyed  travel,  and  wrote  numerous 
letters  to  the  paper  from  abroad  and  from  distant  parts  of 
America,  which  he  afterwards  collected  in  two  volumes  called 
Letters  of  a  Traveler  and  Letters  from  the  East.  On  these 
journeys  he  met  many  distinguished  literary  figures,  in 
cluding  George  Eliot,  the  Brownings,  Wordsworth,  and  his 
own  fellow  countrymen,  Longfellow  and  Hawthorne.  These 
famous  names,  however,  do  not  appear  in  the  letters, 
Bryant's  sense  of  propriety  telling  him  "to  abstain  alto 
gether  from  that  class  of  topics."  The  lack  of  life  result 
ing  from  this  omission  cannot  be  compensated  for  by  any 
amount  of  "faultless  English  and  faultless  taste." 

Public  Service  and  Honors.  —  Bryant  was  a  vigorous  op 
ponent  of  slavery,  and  one  of  the  organizers  of  the  Republi 
can  party  in  1856.  In  1860  he  exerted  himself  through  the 
Post  for  the  nomination  and  election  of  Lincoln,  whom  he 
had  seen  (but  of  course  had  not  known)  nearly  thirty  years 
before,  leading  a  company  of  Illinois  volunteers  to  the 
Black-Hawk  War.  In  1864  a  great  meeting  was  held  in 
New  York  in  honor  of  Bryant's  seventieth  birthday. 
Poems  for  the  occasion  were  written  by  Holmes,  Lowell, 
Bayard  Taylor,  Julia  Ward  Howe,  and  others,  and  a 
wonderful  address  was  delivered  by  Emerson.  Numerous 
and  various  honors  were  bestowed  upon  him  in  the  remain 
ing  fourteen  years  of  his  life.  Says  Bigelow :  "  He  was  an 
honorary  member  of  pretty  much  every  Historical,  Phil 
ological,  Antiquarian,  and  Statistical  society ;  of  every 
Academy  of  Artists  and  Men  of  Letters,  and  of  every 
college  society  in  the  United  States  of  sufficient  consider 
ation  to  feel  at  liberty  to  proffer  the  compliment." 

In  the  summer  of  1866  Mrs.  Bryant  died,  after  an  illness 


TRANSLATION  OF  HOMER  85 

covering  about  ten  years.  The  family  had  been  living  for 
some  time  on  the  old  Bryant  homestead  in  Cummington, 
which  the  poet  had  purchased  and  on  which  he  had  built  a 
new  house,  in  the  hope  that  mountain  air  would  do  what 
the  physicians  of  America  and  Europe  had  failed  to  do. 
Her  loss  left  him,  he  said  in  a  letter  to  a  friend,  "  like  one  cast 
out  of  Paradise  and  wandering  in  a  strange  world."  The 
depth  of  his  devotion  and  sorrow  he  expressed,  seven  years 
after,  in  a  fragment  of  a  poem  in  which  occurs  this  stanza : 

"  And  I,  whose  thoughts  go  back  to  happier  days, 
That  fled  with  thee,  would  gladly  now  resign 
All  that  the  world  can  give  of  fame  and  praise, 
For  one  sweet  look  of  thine." 

Translation  of  Homer.  —  Bryant  survived  his  wife  twelve 
years.  He,  with  his  daughter,  made  his  sixth  and  last  trip 
to  Europe  the  autumn  following  Mrs.  Bryant's  death ;  and 
here  should  be  mentioned  the  one  poem  which  is  a  part  of 
his  life  rather  than  a  contribution  to  his  fame  as  a  poet. 
A  few  years  earlier  he  had  published  a  translation  of  parts 
of  the  Odyssey,  which  was  received  with  great  favor.  When 
his  wife  died,  translation  proved  an  endurable  employment, 
and  he  undertook  to  render  the  Iliad  entire  into  blank  verse, 
the  measure  in  which  he  attained  his  greatest  success  as  a 
metrical  artist.1  He  took  the  Iliad  with  him  on  this  last 
journey  abroad,  determined  to  translate  forty  lines  a  day. 
After  completing  it  he  took  up  the  Odyssey,  the  last  book  of 
which  he  sent  to  the  printer  near  the  close  of  1871.  It  soon 
became  and  has  continued  to  be  exceedingly  popular.  His 
first  volume  of  poems  (1821)  brought  him  less  than  fifteen 
dollars  in  five  years ;  his  Homer  brought  more  than  a  thou 
sand  a  year  to  his  estate  for  the  first  fifteen  years  after 
publication. 

1  Used  in  Thanatopsis,  A  Forest  Hymn,  The  Flood  of  Years,  and  many 
other  poems. 


86 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


In  1872  he  visited  Mexico,  where  he  received  more  distin 
guished  attentions  than  had  been  accorded  to  any  other 
foreigner.  With  the  exception  of  these  two  trips  Bryant 
remained  in  New  York,  active  in  the  conduct  of  the  Post, 
and  in  the  public  life  of  the  city,  enjoying  thoroughly  his 

evenings  and  holidays 
at  Roslyn,  his  Long 
Island  estate.  His  ex 
cellent  health  con 
tinued  to  the  end  ;  and 
when  in  the  city,  he 
still  walked  the  three 
miles  to  his  office  in 
the  morning  and  the 
three  miles  back  at 
noon.  None  of  his 
family  remembered  his 
having  any  illness  save 
the  one  of  which  he 
died ;  and  that  was 
caused  by  an  accident. 
On  May  29,  1878,  after 
delivering  an  oration 
in  Central  Park  in 
memory  of  the  Italian 
patriot  Mazzini,  Bryant 
had  a  fall  which  caused  concussion  of  the  brain.  He  lingered, 
most  of  the  time  unconcious,  for  fourteen  days,  passing 
away  five  months  before  his  eighty-fourth  birthday. 

National  Estimate  of  Bryant.  —  The  memorial  addresses, 
which  for  months  following  were  spoken  in  all  sorts  of 
assemblies  and  in  all  parts  of  the  country,  could  add  little 
to  the  evidences  of  esteem  shown  him  in  life.  All  these 
tributes  were  paid,  not  so  much  to  the  poet,  the  journalist, 


BRYANT  IN  HIS  GROUNDS  AT  ROSLYN. 

"An  old-fashioned  mansion,  surrounded 
by  shrubberies  and  grand  trees,  and  com 
municating  by  a  shelving  lawn  with  one 
of  the  prettiest  of  small  fresh-water 
lakes."  (Godwin.) 


UNITY  OF  HIS  POETRY  87 

the  publicist,  as  to  "the  spotless  and  faithful  citizen,  the 
simple  and  upright  man";  to  one  who  was,  according  to 
Bigelow,  "the  most  symmetrical  man"  America  had  ever 
known.  Another  eulogist,  George  William  Curtis,  said 
that  "  no  man  [had]  more  truly  and  amply  illustrated  the 
scope  and  the  fidelity  of  republican  citizenship." 

We  have  said  that  poetry  was  Bryant's  avocation.  It 
would  be  more  accurate,  perhaps,  to  say  merely  that  it  was 
not  his  profession.  In  this  his  position  was  by  no  means 
unique  in  American  poetry.  Longfellow  and  Lowell  fol 
lowed  the  vocation  of  teaching ;  Holmes,  that  of  medicine ; 
Poe  made  his  meager  living  by  journalistic  hack-work  of 
various  sorts. 

Unity  of  his  Poetry.  —  Bryant  was  surely  "called"  to 
poetry  if  ever  man  was;  and  with  the  exception  of  his 
first  poem,  Tlie  Embargo,  a  political  satire  written  when  he 
was  eleven  years  old,  the  whole  body  of  his  verse  shows  a 
striking  unity.  From  Thanatopsis  (written  at  eighteen) 
to  The  Flood  of  Years  (written  at  eighty -two)  the  "  tone  of 
calm,  elevated,  and  hopeful  contemplation"  (Poe)  —  usually 
contemplation  of  nature  in  her  calmer  moods  —  is  consist 
ently  maintained.  We  find  a  few  excursions  into  the 
realm  of  narrative,  including  the  tender  Sella  and  the  fan 
ciful  Little  People  of  the  Snow;  and  a  small  number  of 
patriotic  poems,  of  which  the  most  noteworthy  are  Our 
Country's  Call  and  The  Death  of  Lincoln.  But  these  are 
exceptional.  The  themes  of  the  vast  majority  of  Bryant's 
poems  are  drawn  from  nature,  of  whom  he  could  truly  say 
that  he  held 

"  Communion  with  her  visible  forms"  — 

with  the  woods  and  meadows  and  streams  and  birds  and 
flowers.  And  it  is  seldom  the  mere  view  that  appeals  to 
him.  In  the  outward  forms  of  nature  Bryant,  like  the 


88  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

English  poet  with  whom  he  is  often  (unwisely)  compared, 
heard  constantly 

"The  still,  sad  music  of  humanity, 
Nor  harsh  nor  grating."  l 

Thanatopsis  is  America's  first  great  poem.  Originally  it 
consisted  of  only  forty-nine  lines,  beginning  with  what  is 
now  line  17  ("  Yet  a  few  days  ")  and  ending  with  line  66 
("  And  make  their  bed  with  thee").  In  this  form  it  lacked 
the  harmonious  setting  of  the  first  sixteen  lines,  and  the 
moral  exhortation  at  the  end ;  hence  it  fell  far  short  of  the 
full  conception  in  the  poet's  mind.  Yet  even  in  this  frag 
ment  the  editors  of  the  North  American  Review  saw  poetic 
merit  of  so  high  an  order  that  they  were  unwilling  to  believe 
it  was  written  "  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic " ;  and  when 
they  published  it,  they  attributed  it  to  Doctor  Bryant,  the 
poet's  father!  It  appears  to  have  been  written  in  the 
author's  eighteenth  or  nineteenth  year  —  a  phenomenal 
performance,  both  in  subject  and  in  treatment.  It  is  idle 
to  inquire  whether  this  "  view  of  death  "  (the  literal  mean 
ing  of  the  word  thanatopsis)  was  inspired  by  Bryant's  read 
ing  of  the  Englishman  Henry  Kirke  White,  or  the  Scotchman 
Robert  Blair,  or  Bishop  Porteus,  or  William  Cowper.  Per 
haps  the  choice  of  subject  and  attitude  toward  it  can  be 
more  easily  explained  by  his  generations  of  Puritan  ancestry 
—  which  means  men  of  the  type  of  Edwards,  who  was 
almost  a  monk  at  ten  years,  and  of  the  type  of  Mather,  who 
was  at  an  early  age  profoundly  interested  in  things  beyond 
the  grave.  It  must  be  kept  in  mind  that  Bryant  is  one  of 
the  "  Knickerbocker  Writers  "  by  accident  only.  He  wrote 
in  the  vicinity  of  New  York  City,  but  his  spiritual  as  well 
as  his  physical  ancestry  is  pure  New  England. 

!The  English  poet  is,  of  course,  Wordsworth.  The  passage  quoted  is 
from  Lines  Written  above  Tintern  Abbey,  91-92. 


A  GREAT  POET  OF  NATURE  89 

A  Great  Poet  of  Nature.  —  It  is  agreed  by  critics  that 
Bryant  never  surpassed  Thanatopsis.  He  did,  however, 
touch  many  other  chords  in  nature  with  almost  equal  skill. 
Sometimes  it  is  the  might  of  nature,  as  in  A  Forest  Hymn  : 

"Grandeur,  strength,  and  grace 
Are  here  to  speak  of  Thee ;  " 

as  in  The  Hurricane : 

"And  hark  to  the  crashing,  long  and  loud, 
Of  the  chariot  of  God  in  the  thunder-cloud." 

Oftener  it  is  the  calmer  moods,  the  milder  expressions,  of 
nature  that  we  hear ;  as  in  To  a  Waterfowl,  whose  "  certain 
flight "  the  Creator  "  guides  through  the  boundless  sky  " ; 
as  in  Green  River : 

"  For  in  thy  lonely  and  lovely  stream 
An  image  of  that  calm  life  appears 
That  won  my  heart  in  my  greener  years." 

Occasionally  there  is  a  note  of  joy,  such  as  the  whole  poem 
The  Gladness  of  Nature,  beginning 

"  Is  this  a  time  to  be  cloudy  and  sad, 

When  our  mother  Nature  laughs  around ; 
When  even  the  deep  blue  heavens  look  glad, 
And  gladness  breathes  from  the  blossoming  ground  ?  " 

Another  poem  that  should  be  mentioned  here  is  the  light- 
hearted,  lilting  Robert  of  Lincoln,  with  its  refrain  of 

"  Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink." 

This  song  illustrates  well  also  the  separation  of  Bryant's 
two  vocations;  for  it  was  written  in  the  same  year  in  which 
the  Post  and  its  editor  were  devoting  their  best  energies  to 
the  forming  of  the  antislavery  party. 

The  tone  of  quietness,  of  repose,  in  the  greater  part  of 
Bryant's   verse   has   led   some   readers   to   call   him   cold. 


90 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


Lowell   expressed  this  opinion  humorously  in  his  famous 
"  medley,"  A  Fable  for  Critics  : 

"  There  is  Bryant,  as  quiet,  as  cool,  and  as  dignified, 
As  a  smooth,  silent  iceberg,  that  never  is  ignified. 


If  he  stir  you  at  all,  it  is  just,  on  my  soul, 

.Like  being  stirred  up  with  the  very  North  Pole." 

This  adverse  criticism,  say  the  Bryant  enthusiasts,  is  due  to 
a   wrong   viewpoint :    "  stateliness,"    not   coldness,    is   the 


BRYANT'S  HOMESTEAD  AT  CUMMINGTON. 

Where  the  poet  was  born  and  where  he  lived  again  in  the  latter  part 

of  his  life. 

proper  term.  The  truth  is  that  the  man  Bryant  had  a  great 
amount  (an  excessive  amount,  thought  many)  of  reserve ; 
he  himself  considered  it  remarkable  that,  being  so  poor  a 
hand  at  making  friends,  he  had  so  many ;  and  this  reserve 
naturally  communicated  itself  to  his  writing.  We  have 
already  noted  how  it  takes  the  life  out  of  his  Letters  of  a 
Traveler. 


A  FRAIL  CLASSIC  BUT  A  ^REAL  ONE  91 

One  characteristic  of  these  nature  poems  would  seem  to 
show  the  inappropriateness  of  calling  them  ".cold."  They 
are  almost  never  mere  nature  lyrics ;  the  trees,  the  flowers, 
the  winds,  are  preachers  giving  the  poet  messages  to  man 
kind  that  could  come  through  none  but  a  warm  heart.  He 
is  a  lover  of  his  fellow  men,  and  translates  for  their  help 
and  guidance  the  myriad  lessons  of  the  natural  world. 
From  the  forest  we  may 

"  to  the  beautiful  order  of  thy  works 
Learn  to  conform  the  order  of  our  lives." 

From  the  contemplation  of  the  waterfowl's  flight  we  may 
take  comfort  that  the  power  guiding  it  will  guide  our  foot 
steps  also.  Our  neglect  of  the  yellow  violet  "midst  the 
gorgeous  blooms  of  May  "  teaches  us  the  wrong  of  forget 
ting  humble  friends  when  we  reach  a  higher  place  in  the 
world.  The  fringed  gentian,  which  even  after  the  frost 
still  lifts  its  "  sweet  and  quiet  eye  "  to  the  heavens,  inspires 
us  by  its  example  to  be  hopeful  in  the  face  of  death. 

A  Poet's  "  Mission."  —  Bryant's  conception  of  his  mission 
in  verse,  set  forth  in  TJie  Poet,  is  a  high  one.  He  looks 
back  over  half  a  century  of  poetic  effort,  and  from  his  ex 
perience  thus  advises  him  who  would  "  wear  the  name  of 
poet " : 

"  Deem  not  the  framing  of  a  deathless  lay 
The  pastime  of  a  drowsy  summer  day. 
***** 

Let  thine  own  eyes  o'erflow  ; 

Let  thy  lips  quiver  with  the  passionate  thrill ; 
Seize  the  great  thought,  ere  yet  its  power  be  past, 
And  bind,  in  words,  the  fleet  emotion  fast." 

A  Frail  Classic  but  a  Real  One.  —  Bryant  wrote  no  long 
original  poem  — "  he  did  not  believe  in  long  poems,"  says 
Bigelow.  He  seems  to  have  shared  Foe's  theory  that  "the 


92  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

phrase,  <a  long  poem/  is  simply  a  flat  contradiction  in 
terms  " ;  and  it  is  probable  that  he,  like  Foe,  was  incapable 
of  any  sustained  effort  in  verse.  His  entire  output,  more 
over,  —  under  15,000  lines,  —  is  less  in  quantity  than  that 
of  Byron  or  Shelley  or  Keats,  all  of  whom  died  before  the 
age  of  forty.  His  range  is  narrow,  his  circle  of  appeal  is 
limited  —  one  wonders  whether  it  would  not  be  even  more 
limited  but  for  the  sentimental  interest  attaching  to  things 
learned  in  childhood.  Yet  when  all  is  said,  it  must  be 
realized  that  Bryant's  place  is  secure  —  that  though  he  is 
one  of  "  the  scantiest  and  frailest  of  classics  in  our  poetry," l 
he  is  a  classic.  As  the  ethical  teacher  expounding  nature 
in  America,  in  full  sympathy  with  her  "  visible  forms"  and 
interpreting  her  "  various  language  "  in  the  language  of  the 
wayfarer,  he  occupies  a  noble  place,  one  which  has  been 
approached  by  no  other,  and  which  bids  fair  to  continue 
Bryant's  alone. 

JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER,    1789-1851 

An  Accidental  Author.  —  Cooper  became  an  author  by 
accident.  He,  a  farmer,  criticized  an  English  novel,  was 
dared  to  write  a  better,  and  attempted  to  do  so.  He  was  the 
last  to  appear  cf  "that  early  triumvirate  of  American 
literature  not  less  renowned  than  the  great  triumvirate  of 
American  politics."  2  Moreover,  he  did  not  feel  his  way 
into  literature  as  did  Irving,  nor  did  his  first  works  show 
any  such  calling  to  the  profession  as  we  have  noted  in 
Bryant.  When  a  man  begins  his  career  on  a  wager  that  he 
can  surpass  another  man,  we  do  not  expect  high  accomplish 
ment.  Yet  such  was  Cooper's  beginning ;  and  although  he 
made  many  failures,  he  made  notable  successes  in  two 

1  Matthew  Arnold's  phrase  —  used  of  Gray,  author  of  the  Elegy. 

2  George  William  Curtis. 


LIFE  AT  SEA,  AND  MARRIAGE 


93 


entirely  new  fields  —  native  American  romance,  and  romance 
of  the  sea. 

He  was  born  in  Burlington,  New  Jersey,  September  15, 
1789,  the  eleventh  child  of  William  and  Elizabeth  (Fenimore) 
Cooper,  both  Quakers.  The  first  Cooper  had  come  to 
America  from  Stratf  ord- 
on-Avon  about  a  hun 
dred  years  earlier,  and 
appears  to  have  been  a 
man  of  integrity  and 
ability.  When  James 
was  a  year  old,  his 
parents  moved  to 
Cooperstown,  New 
York,  on  Otsego  Lake, 
and  here  the  father  built 
Otsego  Hall,  a  fine  old 
mansion  afterwards 
adopted  by  the  son  as 
•his  permanent  home. 

Life  at  Sea,  and  Mar 
riage.  —  Cooper's  prepa 
ration  for  college  was  COOPER'S  BIRTHPLACE. 

obtained  —  as     was 
T,  ,  ,  ,-,      •, 

Bryant's  —  in  the  home 

of  a  clergyman.  At  the  age  of  thirteen  he  entered  Yale,  from 
which  he  was  dismissed  in  his  junior  year  for  continued 
neglect  of  college  duties.  The  year  following  he  was  at  sea 
on  a  merchant  vessel,  and  learned  the  ways  and  language  of 
the  trade,  which  he  later  used  successfully  in  several  stories, 
notably  The  Pilot  and  The  Red  Rover,  and  in  Ned  Myers, 
the  biography  of  a  shipmate.  He  then  entered  the  navy 
as  a  midshipman,  serving  for  two  years  and  a  half,  during 
which  time  he  assisted  in  building  a  brig  on  Lake  Ontario 


In  the  next  house  lived  Captain  Lawrence, 
father  of  the  naval  hero. 


94  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

In  May,  1810,  he  obtained  a  year's  furlough,  and  in  the 
following  January  married  Miss  de  Lancey,  a  young  woman 
of  distinguished  Huguenot  ancestry  and  fine  personality.  At 
the  expiration  of  his  furlough,  he  yielded  to  her  entreaties 
and  resigned  from  the  navy,  taking  up  farming,  first  in 
Westchester  County  at  Mrs.  Cooper's  home,  then  at  Coopers- 
town  for  three  years,  and  again  in  Westchester. 

First  Stories.  —  In  1820  came  his  accidental  entrance  into 
literature.  After  reading  a  commonplace  novel  of  English 
life  and  asserting  that  he  could  write  a  better  himself,  he 
accepted  Mrs.  Cooper's  challenge  to  attempt  it,  and  the 
result  was  Precaution,  a  tiresome,  uninteresting  story.  The 
author  had  no  first-hand  knowledge  of  his  subject;  and  in  a 
story  of  this  kind  he  naturally  had  to  introduce  a  number  of 
women  characters,  or  "  females,"  as  he  habitually  called 
them,  in  portraying  whom  he  was  wholly  successful  only  in 
the  case  of  Judith  Hutter,  the  heroine  of  The  Deerslayer. 
Precaution  is  a  failure,  but  it  was  followed  by  an  unqualified 
success,  The  Spy,  a  story  of  American  life,  written  at  the 
suggestion  of  friends.  He  had  little  confidence  in  the 
subject;  but  this  romance  of  the  Revolution  passed  through 
three  editions  in  two  months,  and  a  dramatization  of  it  was 
drawing  large  audiences  a  month  later. 

Two  years  after  The  Spy  came  the  first  of  that  great  series 
which  constitutes  Cooper's  chief  claim  as  an  author  —  the 
Leather-Stocking  Tales.  This  was  The  Pioneers  (1823), 
which  Cooper  wrote  as  a  labor  of  love,  laying  the  scenes  on 
his  beloved  Otsego,  and  introducing  characters  belonging  to 
the  frontier  community,  among  them  the  Quaker  Judge 
Temple,  thought  to  be  a  portrait  of  his  father.  In  this 
story  appears  for  the  first  time  Nathaniel  (Natty)  Bumppo, 
the  woodsman,  nicknamed  Leather-Stocking  here,  the  unique 
figure  whom  we  meet  in  other  tales  of  the  series,  as  Beer- 
slayer,  Hawkeye,  Pathfinder,  La  Longue  Carabine,  and 


FIRST  STORIES  95 

finally  just  "the  trapper."  The  favor  with  which  this  second 
romance  of  America  was  received  may  be  judged  from  the 
fact  that  3500  copies  were  sold  before  noon  on  the  day  of 
publication. 

Because  of  its  origin  one  other  story  must  be  mentioned 
here  —  The  Pilot,  first  of  Cooper's  sea  tales.  When  Scott's 
The  Pirate  appeared  in  1822,  the  author  of  the  Waverley 
novels  was  still  unidentified  by  the  public.  Hearing  Scott's 
authorship  of  the  work  called  in  question  because  of  the 
thorough  and  profound  knowledge  of  the  sea  displayed, 
Cooper  maintained  that,  on  the  contrary,  it  was  clearly  not 
written  by  a  seaman  —  that  it  was  accurate  in  details,  but 
did  not  have  the  real  flavor  of  salt  water.  To  prove  this  to 
himself,  he  wrote  The  Pilot,  the  hero  of  which,  though  un 
named,  is  John  Paul  Jones  ("  liberty's  brave  Buccaneer,"  as 
the  old  song  calls  him),  and  the  story  of  which  was  suggested 
by  Jones's  cruise  in  the  Hanger.1  The  success  of  this  story 
was  almost  as  great  as  that  of  The  Spy,  and  it  still  holds  a 
high  place  in  romantic  fiction. 

Cooper  was  now  firmly  established  as  a  literary  man,  in 
a  sphere  which  he  may  almost  be  said  to  have  discovered, 
and  which  he  certainly  made  peculiarly  his  own.  In  1822, 
after  the  death  of  his  father  and  mother,  he  moved  to  New 
York  City,  and  became  associated  with  the  "  Knickerbocker 
Writers."  Two  years  later  Columbia  University  conferred 
upon  him  the  Master's  degree,  one  of  the  few  honors  that 
fell  to  him.  He  was  later  honored  with  membership  in  the 
American  Philosophical  Society  (1823),  the  Georgia  Histor 
ical  Society  (1839),  and  the  Maryland  Historical  Society 
(1844). 

In  1823  the  author  asked  the  state  legislature  for  legal 

1  The  action  of  The  Pilot  takes  place  in  1778.  Jones  did  not  take  com 
mand  of  the  Bonhomme  Richard  until  the  following  year.  See  Dictionary 
of  National  Biography. 


96  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

authority  to  adopt  the  name  Fenimore,  in  accordance  with 
a  request  of  his  mother.  He  wished  to  be  James  Cooper 
Fenimore ; 1  but,  apparently  through  a  misunderstanding,  the 
act  made  him  James  Fenimore-Cooper,  and  he  used  the 
hyphenated  form  for  a  short  time. 

In  Europe.  —  During  the  seven  years  following,  Cooper  was 
in  Europe,  holding  for  the  first  three  years  the  position  of 
consul  at  Lyons,  France.  He  traveled  widely,  spent  a 
winter  in  Rome,  four  months  in  London,  and  nearly  four 
and  a  half  years  in  and  near  Paris  ;  three  years  of  this  last 
period  were  immediately  after  the  Revolution  of  1830.  He 
became  intimate  with  Lafayette,  and  met  frequently  other 
French  notables  and  one  great  Englishman  —  Sir  Walter 
Scott.  It  may  be  remarked  here  that  nowhere  has  Cooper 
been  more  warmly  admired  than  in  France,  and  that  by  the 
foremost  literary  critics,  as  well  as  by  the  general  public. 
G-eorge  Sand  and  Balzac  both  wrote  enthusiastically  of  his 
works. 

At  War  with  his  Countrymen.  —  Shortly  after  his  return  to 
America  he  renovated  Otsego  Hall,  the  mansion  built  by  his 
father  at  Cooperstown  forty  years  before,  and  took  up  his  res 
idence  there  permanently.  This  year  (1834)  also  marks 
the  beginning  of  his  warfare  with  his  countrymen,  which 
continued  almost  till  his  death  in  1851.  The  story  of  this 
warfare,  a  long  series  of  controversial  writings  and  libel  suits, 
is  an  unfortunate  chapter  in  his  life,  and  will  be  passed  over 
briefly.  The  beginning  of  it  was  A  Letter  to  his  Country 
men,  partly  a  reply  to  published  criticisms  of  his  works, 
and  partly  a  wholly  unnecessary  discussion  of  a  political 
question  at  that  time  agitating  the  country.  The  Letter  he 
followed  with  a  satirical  novel,  The  Monikins,  and  several 
volumes  of  travels,  in  which  he  repeated  and  elaborated  his 
criticisms  of  America.  The  second  quarrel  was  with  his 
iClymer,  page  5.  Loimsbury  does  not  so  state  this. 


AT  WAR  WITH  HIS  COUNTRYMEN  97 

fellow  townsmen,  who  resented  and  disputed  his  assertion  of 
authority  over  Three  Mile  Point,  a  spot  on  the  Cooper  estate 
which  had  for  years  been  used  as  a  public  picnic  ground. 
He  proved  his  right,  but  at  the  cost  of  much  of  his  popular- 


FACSIMILE  OF  A  LETTER  OF  COOPER. 

ity.  His  third  false  step  was  a  series  of  suits  for  libel 
against  a  number  of  newspapers  which  had  attacked  him 
vigorously  —  and  often  viciously  —  for  his  conduct  in  the 
Three  Mile  Point  affair.  Cooper  won  most  of  the  suits,  and 


98  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

in  the  end  forced  a  retraction  of  the  offensive  statements, 
but  at  further  cost  to  his  popularity.  His  last  battle  was 
with  the  New  York  Commercial  Advertiser,  which  in  a 
review  of  his  History  of  the  United  States  Navy  reflected  on 
his  character.  Cooper  again  sued  for  libel,  and  was  again 
victorious.  At  least  one  other  suit  was  still  pending,  and 
had  not  been  settled  when  Cooper  died. 

The  seven  years'  fighting  embittered  him  towards  the  pub 
lic  and  the  public  towards  him  ;  and  though  later  he  became 
"  less  unpopular,"  as  Professor  Lounsbury  puts  it,  he  left  a 
death-bed  injunction  that  his  family  permit  no  authorized 
biography  of  him  to  be  written.  He  had  consideration 
enough  for  his  children  to  wish  that  they  might  be  spared 
a  recital  of  his  troubles.  The  strength  of  his  feeling  in  this 
direction  is  shown  by  his  regret  that  he  had  ever  written 
the  Naval  History.  Said  he :  "  Were  the  manuscript  now 
lying  before  me  unpublished,  I  certainly  should  throw  it 
into  the  fire  as  an  act  of  prudence  to  myself  and  of  justice 
to  my  children." 

The  five  years  following  the  controversies  saw  the  publi 
cation  of  Cooper's  -two  best  stories  —  The  Pathfinder  and 
Tlie  Deerslayer,  which  completed  the  Leather-Stocking  Tales. 
Between  1840  and  1850  he  wrote  fourteen  others,  none  of 
which  are  especially  notable;  but  all  sold  well,  and  even 
bitter  enemies  read  and  admired  most  of  his  romances. 
According  to  Professor  Lounsbury,  Thurlow  Weed,  editor 
of  the  Albany  Journal,  who  had  been  the  defendant  in 
several  of  Cooper's  suits,  "  was  a  profound  and  even  bigoted 
admirer  of  his  adversary's  novels  !  " 

Cooper  spent  his  last  years  on  his  estate,  amusing  himself 
and  spending  his  money 'in  farming  experiments.  This  sort 
of  life  tended  to  soften  him,  and  apparently  to  fix  and 
deepen  religious  convictions  which  had  been  growing  in 
him  ;  and  in  July,  1851,  he  was  confirmed  in  the  Episcopal 


THE  INDIAN  TALES  99 

Church.  But  he  was  not  to  enjoy  long  the  peace  and  con 
tentment  he  had  at  last  gained.  Already  signs  of  physical 
weakening  had  appeared,  and  as  the  summer  advanced,  he 
grew  rapidly  worse.  On  September  14,  one  day  before  his 
sixty-second  birthday,  he  died.  On  the  twenty -fifth  of  the 
month  friends  and  admirers  made  arrangements  for  a  meet 
ing  in  his  memory,  which  was  held  the  following  February, 
William  Cullen  Bryant  delivering  the  principal  address.  It 
cannot  be  said  that  his  death  caused  very  general  sorrow ;  but 
the  feeling  was  universal  that  a  great  man  had  passed  away, 
as  was  shown  by  the  large  attendance  at  the  memorial  meeting. 

No  extended  analysis  of  Cooper's  merits  and  faults  as  a 
writer  will  be  made  here.  Mere  mention  of  some  of  the 
characteristics  that  have  given  his  stories  continued  favor 
will  suffice. 

The  Sea  Tales.  —  Scott  found  in  The  Red  Rover  "  some 
thing  too  much  of  nautical  language,"  and  the  average  reader 
will  perhaps  feel  the  same  objection  to  other  sea  tales,  — 
The  Two  Admirals  and  The  Pilot,  for  example.  The  famous 
fifth  chapter  of  the  last-named  is  rather  obscure  to  a  lands 
man,  with  its  "  double-reefed  topsails,"  its  "  weather  main- 
chains,"  its  "  after-yards  trimmed,"  its  "  Let  her  luff ! " 
"  Square  away  the  yards  !  —  in  mainsail !  "  But  we  can 
pass  over  all  this  for  the  sake  of  the  story  and  some  finely 
drawn  characters,  —  the  Pilot  himself,  and  Long  Tom  Coffin, 
the  brave  seaman  who  is  of  the  same  stuff  as  Natty  Bumppo. 
There  is  probably  in  all  the  literature  of  adventure  no  more 
realistic  and  thrilling  incident  than  the  fight  of  the  Ariel 
and  the  Alacrity  in  chapter  eighteen  of  The  Pilot,  or  the 
wreck  of  the  Ariel  with  Long  Tom  on  board,  in  chapter 
twenty-four. 

The  Indian  Tales.  —  The  same  virtues  appear  in  the  Indian 
tales,  which  Cooper  wrote,  says  Clymer,  "  solely  because 


100 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


stories  of  adventure  were  tingling  in  his  blood."  The  Leather- 
Stocking  Tales,  in  the  order  of  the  events  narrated,  form  a 
sort  of  prose  epic  depicting  an  altogether  new  kind  of  heroic 
career  from  young  manhood  to  extreme  old  age.  In  The 
Deerslayer  Natty  Bumppo,  whose  first  nickname  (the  title 


L._._ 


PENNS  rL  VA  M/A 


MAP  SHOWING  SCENES  OF  THE  LEATHER-STOCKING  TALES. 

Deerslayer  takes  place  on  and  around  Lake  Otsego  (called  "Glimmer- 
glass"  in  the  story) ;  Last  of  the  Mohicans,  in  the  country  between  the 
Mohawk  River  and  Lake  George ;  Pathfinder,  on  the  Oswego  River,  and 
the  south  shore  of  Lake  Ontario  from  Fort  Niagara  to  Thousand  Islands; 
Pioneers,  around  Lake  Otsego,  chiefly  the  vicinity  of  Cooperstown  (called 
"  Templeton  "  in  the  story) .  Drawn  by  R.  L.  Burdsall. 

of  the  story)  has  come  from  the  wonderful  execution  of  his 
famous  musket  Killdeer,  sheds  human  blood  for  the  first 
time  —  a  thing  which  he  was  averse  to,  and  which  he  re 
sorted  to  only  in  self-defense.  Through  The  Last  of  the 
Mohicans,  The  Pathfinder,  and  The  Pioneers,  we  follow 


PORTRAYAL  OF  INDIAN  CHARACTER        101 

the  scout's  adventures,  and  observe  bis  growing  hatred  of 
the  Mingoes,  whom  he  comes  to  consider  no  better  than  ver 
min  and  deserving  of  no  better  fate  than  vermin.  In  The 
Prairie  the  scout's  eyesight  has  become  dim  at  the  age  of 
fourscore  and  seven,  and  he  is  a  pathetic  figure,  gaining 
his  subsistence  by  what  seems  to  him  the  ignoble  method 
of  trapping.  In  The  Pathfinder  we  find  him  yielding  to 
the  charms  of  a  "  female,"  who  consents  to  marry  him,  but 
whom  he  willingly  surrenders  to  young  Jasper  Western, 
the  nominal  hero  of  the  story  and  the  winner  of  her  affec 
tion.  Pathfinder's  love  for  Mabel  Dunham  is  noble  and 
sincere,  and  for  all  women  he  has  a  chivalrous  feeling  that 
is  an  exquisite  touch. 

Portrayal  of  Indian  Character.  —  A  word  must  be  said  re 
garding  Cooper's  portrayal  of  Indian  life  and  characters. 
The  former,  it  is  generally  agreed,  leaves  nothing  to  be 
desired.  Otsego  Lake  in  his  boyhood  was  the  frontier,  and 
he  saw  much  of  the  Indians  and  was  much  interested  in 
their  mode  of  life  and  conduct.  Their  customs,  practices, 
and  racial  characteristics  he  got  at  first  hand,  and  these  he 
has  pictured  in  his  romances  better  than  any  real  history. 
There  is  not  such  general  agreement  as  to  Cooper's  indi 
vidual  Indians,  particularly  the  good  ones.  Chingachgook, 
Uncas,  and  Hard-heart  are  objected  to  as  idealized  figures ; 
for  though  they  have  the  daring,  the  cunning,  the  disre 
gard  of  life,  that  we  commonly  associate  with  their  race, 
they  have  also  a  fidelity  to  the  cause  they  espouse  and  to 
the  individuals  they  believe  in,  which  some  critics  seem 
to  think  impossible  in  a  red  man.  The  Indian  of  these 
romances,  however,  is  unquestionably  the  real  Indian  to 
English  readers,  and  he  is,  as  some  one  has  said,  a  gain  to 
literature  whether  he  is  to  truth  or  not. 

Cooper  is  distinctly,  as  the  preceding  sentence  suggests, 
a  novelist  of  the  people,  rather  than  of  the  critics.  Much 


102  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

fault  may  be  found  with  his  style,  with  his  minor  charac 
ters,  with  his  humor,  with  his  long  and  wordy  introductions, 
with  the  structure  (or  lack  of  structure)  of  his  plots.  Even 
these  shortcomings,  however,  may  be  forgiven  in  a  man  who 
could  create  a  Hawkeye  and  a  Chingachgook,  and  who 
could  give  such  life  to  the  romantic  early  days  of  our  coun 
try.  It  is  worth  while  for  us  to  be  reminded  that  the 
struggle  of  1740-1800  was  not  merely  one  of  cities  and 
legislative  halls  as  recorded  in  the  preceding  chapter,  but 
was  also  carried  on  in  the  frontier  forests,  for  homes  for 
the  millions  coming  to  work  out  the  great  experiment  in  a 
new  form  of  government.  And  for  the  great  mass  of  the 
people  this  story  has  certainly  been  more  entertainingly 
and  hence  more  convincingly  told  by  the  romancer  than  by 
the  matter-of-fact  historian. 


DRAKE   AND   HALLECK 

"The  Croakers."  —  In  1819  there  appeared  in  the  New 
York  Evening  Post  a  series  of  poems,  mostly  satires  upon 
current  events,  signed  "  Croaker,"  or  "  Croaker,  Jr."  They 
were  the  joint  production  of  two  close  friends,  Joseph  Rod 
man  Drake  and  Fitz-Greene  Halleck,  minor  members  of  the 
Knickerbocker  group,  who  had  considerable  fame  in  their 
day,  and  are  still  remembered  for  a  few  poems. 

Joseph  Rodman  Drake  (1795-1820).  — Drake,  though  five 
years  younger  than  his  friend,  began  writing  several  years 
earlier.  At  the  age  of  twenty-one  he  wrote  a  long  poem, 
The  Culprit  Fay,  which  for  some  reason  was  not  published 
until  fifteen  years  after  his  death.  With  something  of  the 
Romantic  spirit  he  aimed  in  this  poem  to  show  that  Ameri 
can  streams  had  poetical  possibilities  as  great  as  any  in 
England  or  Scotland.  Of  Drake's  Croaker  pieces  the  best 
known  is  The  American  Flag,  which  is  worthy  of  notice  as 


FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK  103 

a  patriotic  outburst,  though  the  first  stanza  is  burdened  with 
a  too  elaborate  figure.  Drake,  a  New  Yorker  by  birth,  was 
left  an  orphan  when  quite  young ;  and  his  childhood  was  a 
hard  struggle  with  poverty.  He  studied  medicine,  gradu 
ating  in  1816,  and  in  the  same  year  married  Miss  Sarah 
Eckford,  daughter  of  a  wealthy  New  York  shipbuilder. 
This  ended  his  financial  troubles ;  but  he  was  a  consump 
tive,  and  in  1818  went  south  in  search  of  health.  He  spent 
about  a  year  in  Louisiana,  and  returning  to  New  York  early 
in  1820,  died  there  in  September. 

Fitz-Greene  Halleck  (1790-1867)  was  born  in  Connecticut, 
but  at  an  early  age  adopted  New  York  as  his  home.  After 
some  years  in  a  bank  he  became  confidential  clerk  to  John 
Jacob  Astor ;  arid  at  the  latter's  death  in  1848  received  a 
pension  which  enabled  him  to  retire  to  his  birthplace  for 
the  remainder  of  his  life.  Halleck  wrote  little,  and  his 
standing  as  a  poet  rests  mainly  on  two  poems.  The  first, 
On  the  Death  of  Joseph  Rodman  Drake,  beginning 

"  Green  be  the  turf  above  thee 
Friend  of  my  better  days," 

is  universally  admired,  both  by  critics  and  by  general 
readers.  It  contains  only  twenty-four  lines,  but  in  its  direct 
ness,  sincerity,  and  simplicity  says  all  that  the  most  devoted 
of  friends  could  say.  His  other  famous  poem  is  Marco 
Bozzaris,  celebrating  in  stirring  lines  the  self-sacrifice  of 
the  Greek  patriot  in  the  struggle  with  Turkey,  and  contain 
ing  familiar  passages,  of  which  the  closing  apostrophe  to 
the  spirit  of  Bozzaris  is  most  worth  quoting : 

"  For  thou  art  Freedom's  now,  and  Fame's  : 
One  of  the  few,  the  immortal  names, 
That  were  not  born  to  die." 


104 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


EDGAR   ALLAN  FOE,    1809-1849 

The  two  men  who,  by  common  consent  both  at  home  and 
abroad,  are  ranked  highest  among  American  writers  are 
Edgar  Allan  Poe  and  Nathaniel  Hawthorne.  They  are 
notably  individual;  they  are  men  of  letters  and  nothing 
more;  they  are  universally  recognized  as  literary  artists. 
While  Poe  wrote  much  criticism  and  a  few  poems  of  the 
first  order,  it  seems  likely  that  his  fame  will  finally  rest 

on  his  short-stories,  a 
likelihood  that  may 
be  stated  also  of  Haw 
thorne.  In  this  diffi 
cult  field  they  are  un 
surpassed,  not  only  in 
American,  but  in  the 
world's,  literature. 

A  Man  of  Contradic 
tions.— In  1841  Poe 
wrote  to  a  friend  who 
was  preparing  a  sketch 
of  his  life:  "Born, 
Jan.,  1811."  In  1849, 
after  the  sketch  was 
published,  Poe  wrote : 
"  You  have  given  my 
sister's  age  instead  of 

BUST   OF  POE   AT    UNIVERSITY   OF  Vm-     mine,    I    was    born    in 

Dec.,  1813."    The  truth 


GINIA,    BY   ZOLNAY. 

Believed  to  be  the  best  interpretation  of 
the  poet. 


is    that    he   was    born 
January  19,  1809,  and 

that    his    sister    was    two    years   younger   than    he.       He 
enlisted   in   the  army  at  the   age   of   eighteen  years,  four 


EXPLANATIONS  105 

months;  minors  were  then  admitted  into  the  service,  yet 
he  gave  his  age  as  twenty-two.  Two  years  later,  when  he 
applied  for  admission  to  West  Point,  he  said  he  was  nineteen 
years  and  three  months  old.  The  title-page  of  his  first 
volume  of  poems  informs  us  that  the  contents  are  "  By  a 
Bostonian."  In  a  letter  to  a  friend  fifteen  years  later  he 
said:  "I  am  a  Virginian.  ...  I  have  resided  all  my  life 
until  the  last  few  years,  in  Kichrnond."  In  fact,  he  had 
lived  a  few  months  in  Boston,  five  years  in  England,  one 
year  at  the  University  of  Virginia,  four  years  in  New  York 
City,  one  year  in  Baltimore,  and  two  years  in  army  posts. 
In  view  of  these  facts  we  can  hardly  accept  Poe's  statement 
that  he  had  "an  inveterate  habit  of  speaking  the  truth." 
We  are  more  likely  to  agree  with  Professor  Woodberry : 
"  Any  unsupported  assertion  by  Poe  regarding  himself  is  to 
be  received  with  great  caution." 

Explanations.  —  How  can  such  a  state  of  things  be  ex 
plained  ?  Was  Poe  intentionally  lying  ?  One  searches  in 
vain  for  motives.  Did  he  make  these  contradictory  state 
ments  under  the  influence  of  liquor  ?  The  idea  that  Poe 
was  an  habitual  drunkard  was  long  ago  exploded.  Or  were 
they  merely  another  expression  of  Poe's  tendency  to  mystify  ? 
A  possible  explanation  may  be  found  in  a  letter  to  the  poet 
Lowell:  "I  have  been  too  deeply  conscious  of  the  muta 
bility  and  evanescence  of  temporal  things  to  give  any  con 
sistent  effort  to  anything  —  to  be  consistent  in  anything. 
My  life  has  been  whim  —  impulse  —  passion  —  a  longing 
for  solitude  —  a  scorn  of  all  things  present,  in  an  earnest 
desire  for  the  future."  Another  possible  explanation  is  a 
caution  to  Poe  from  his  friend  John  P.  Kennedy :  "  Your 
fault  is  your  love  of  the  extravagant.  Pray  beware  of 
it."  This  fault  we  should  express  now  by  the  popular 
phrase,  "  playing  to  the  galleries "  His  whole  life  was 
spectacular. 


106  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Early  Life— in  Virginia.  —  Poe  was  a  "  Bostonian  "  by  birth, 
of  actor  parents  who  were  then  playing  in  the  Massachusetts 
capital.  Both  parents  died  before  he  was  three  years  old, 
Mrs.  Poe  while  filling  an  engagement  in  Richmond,  Virginia ; 
and  Edgar  was  adopted  by  a  Richmond  merchant,  John 
Allan,  between  whose  wife  and  the  adopted  son  a  strong 
affection  grew  up.  When  Poe  was  six  years  old,  Mr.  Allan's 
business  took  him  to  England ;  and  the  boy  spent  the  next 
five  years  at  Dr.  Bransby's  school  in  a  London  suburb,  a 
school  of  which  he  has  left  an  account  in  William  Wilson. 
When  they  returned  to  Richmond  in  1820,  Poe's  education 
was  continued  in  private  schools  until  he  entered  the  recently 
established  University  of  Virginia  in  February,  1826. 

Since  women  filled  so  large  a  place  in  Poe's  life,  it  may 
be  well  to  mention  here  two  who,  in  addition  to  Mrs.  Allan, 
touched  his  heart  while  he  was  still  a  boy.  The  first  was 
Mrs.  Stanard,  mother  of  a  school  friend,  who  welcomed  him 
cordially  on  his  first  visit  to  her  home,  and  exerted  a  strong 
influence  over  him.  It  is  said  that  after  her  death  he 
haunted  her  grave  in  his  apparently  incurable  sorrow.  The 
other  woman  was  Miss  Royster,  a  neighbor  of  the  Allans, 
near  Poe's  age,  who  evidently  returned  his  affection;  but 
the  promising  romance  was  ended  by  Mr.  Royster's  inter 
cepting  Poe's  letters,  which  he  did,  says  the  lady,  solely 
"because  we  were  too  young."  That  her  attraction  for  him 
was  not  superficial  is  indicated  by  his  renewing  his  attentions 
to  her  in  the  last  year  of  his  life,  when  again  he  met  her, 
then  a  widow,  in  Richmond. 

In  the  Army.  —  During  his  ten  months  at  the  University 
Poe  distinguished  himself  in  languages,  and  read  extensively 
in  four  or  five.  Unfortunately  he  also  distinguished  him 
self  at  gaming,  and  returned  to  Mr.  Allan  with  a  fine  crop 
of  "  debts  of  honor,"  which  that  gentleman  declined  to  pay. 
A  disagreement  followed,  which  resulted  in  Poe's  leaving 


IN  THE  ARMY 


107 


Richmond  and  enlisting  in  the  army  under  the  name  of 
Edgar  A.  Perry.  The  next  month  appeared  Tamerlane  and 
Other  Poems,  By  a  Bostonian,  a  collection  of  ten  poems  most 
of  which  were  written,  says  Poe,  before  he  was  fifteen. 
There  are  allusions  to  Mrs.  Stanard  and  Miss  Royster,  and 
to  his  passionate  and  unhappy  life.  There  are  no  great- 
poems  here ;  but  there  are  clear  foretastes  of  the  hauntingly 


WEST  RANGE,  UNIVERSITY  OF  VIRGINIA. 
The  dormitory  in  which  Poe  lived. 

musical  quality  of  Poe's  best  work,  which  one  feels  in  his 
prose  as  well  as  in  his  verse.  During  his  term  in  the  army 
Poe  made  an  excellent  record,  rising  to  the  position  of 
sergeant  major. 

In  April,  1829,  after  two  years'  service,  he  secured  nis 
discharge  from  the  army,  and  became  reconciled  to  Mr. 
Allan,  Mrs.  Allan  having  recently  died.  In  July  of  the 
following  year,  Poe,  partly  through  Mr.  Allan's  efforts,  re- 


108  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

ceived  appointment  to  the  military  academy  at  West  Point-, 
but  discipline  here  proved  less  congenial  than  that  in  the 
army,  Poe  neglected  duties  and  broke  rules,  and  was  court- 
martialed  and  dismissed  in  less  than  a  year. 

First  Literary  Success.  —  No  trace  of  Poe's  whereabouts 
has  been  found  from  this  time,  March,  1831,  to  the  summer 
of  1833,  when  he  made  his  first  "  strike  "  as  a  writer.  This 
was  the  winning  of  a  hundred  dollar  prize  given  by  the 
Baltimore  Visiter  for  the  best  story  to  be  published  in  its 
columns.  Poe  submitted  six  stories,  grouped  as  Tales  of  the 
Folio  Club,  and  the  judges  unanimously  awarded  the  prize 
to  A  MS.  Found  in  a  Bottle,  a  thrilling  story  of  shipwreck. 
A  prize  of  fifty  dollars  for  the  best  poem  might  also  have 
gone  to  Poe,  it  appears,  had  not  the  judges  thought  it 
unwise  to  give  both  to  one  contestant.  The  Visiter  for 
October  12,  1833,  which  contained  the  MS.,  contained  also 
a  note  advising  Poe  to  publish  the  whole  series  of  the  Folio 
Club,  and  concluding :  "  These  tales  are  eminently  distin 
guished  by  a  wild,  vigorous,  and  poetical  imagination,  a 
rich  style,  a  fertile  invention,  and  varied  and  curious  learn 
ing."  Among  the  number  were  two  other  notable  tales 

The  Assignation,  a  picturesque  and  tragic  tale  of  Venice, 
and  A  Descent  into  the  Maelstrom,  an  exciting  sea  adventure 
like  the  MS.,  but  without  its  fatal  ending. 

Disinherited.  —  Poe's  foster  father  married  again,  and  Poe 
never  got  into  the  good  graces  of  the  second  Mrs.  Allan. 
When  Mr.  Allan  died  in  March,  1834,  a  few  months  after 
Poe  had  attained  real  literary  fame,  he  failed  to  mention 
his  adopted  son  in  his  will.  The  cause  of  the  estrangement 
will  doubtless  never  be  known,  and  it  is  unprofitable  to 
discuss  various  suggested  explanations.  It  is  enough  to 
say  that  Poe  was  surprised  and  bitterly  disappointed  at 
being  thus  cut  off,  and  that  from  this  time  he  lived  by  his 
pen. 


DISINHERITED  109 

Shortly  after  this  a  license  was  issued  in  Baltimore  for 
the  marriage  of  Poe,  age  twenty-five,  and  his  cousin  Vir 
ginia  Clemm,  age  twelve  years  and  one  month ;  but  there 


KNOW  ALL  MEN  BY  THESE  PRESENTS,  That  we 


^~ 

am  told  and  firmly  bound  unto  /^^^^^^T^^^^,  a2^^E5-~~^r    Governor^  the 
;  Commonwealth  of  Virginia,  in  the  just  add  full  sum  of  ONE  HCNDHED  AND  FIFTY  DOLLARS,  to  the 


____  ._  _  _  _____  _______  .,  __._     _  _  .....  __  .  ______  v.  . 

payment  whereof,  well  and  truly  to  be  made  to  the  said  Governor,  or  his  successors,  for  the  use  of 

the  said  Commonwealth,  we  bind  ourselves  and  each  of  us,  our  and  each  of  our  heirs,  executors 
and  administrators,  jointly  and  severally,  firmly  by  these  presents.  Sealed  with  our  seals,  and 
dated  this  /(&  -  dty  of  frltcy  —  183  <£ 

THE  CONDITION  OF  THE  ABOVE  OBLIGATION  IS  SUCH,  That  whereas  a 
marriage  is  shortly  intended  to  be  had  and  solemnized  between  the  above  bound   G 


of  the  City  of  Richmond.    Now  if  there  is  no  lawful  cause  to  obstruct  said  marriage,  then  the 
above  obligatioFto  be  void,  ei»  to  remain  in  full  force  and  virtue. 


CITY  OF  mCRMOWD,  To  wit . 

->-  <EMs?^»~V5*-<f>ps*-.««u3>  -;&^&i&£x'?t-*>t=- — -r,-—  "afe»e  named,  made  oath 

before  me,  as  XJ^S^^ZTT^  Clerk  of  the  Court  of  Hustings  for  the  said  City,  that 

L/.&i.pz+t'Lct^  Q>  ^y^gbnsxm^  jg  ^  foQ  |y{  a^>  <rf  twenty-one  years,  and  a 

resident  of  the  said  City.  Given  under  my  hand,  this  S&  day  of  ??ta^4/  18.)  <a 


POE'S  MARRIAGE  BOND. 


is  no  record  of  the  performance  of  a  ceremony  at  this  time. 
A  second  license  was  obtained  about  a  year  later,  and  they 
were  married  in  Richmond.  She  was,  according  to  all  testi- 


110  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

mony,  a  beautiful  and  intelligent  girl,  and  Poe  was  constant 
in  his  devotion  to  her  till  her  death  in  1847  ;  but  it  does  not 
appear  that  she  had  any  great  influence  upon  his  life,  or 
any  influence  whatever  upon  his  work,  unless  she  was  the 
inspiration  of  Annabel  Lee. 

In  Richmond. — The  year  following  his  marriage  Poe  be 
gan  his  journalistic  career  as  editor  of  the  Southern  Literary 
Messenger,  at  a  salary  of  $520  a  year,1  his  first  occupation 
assuring  a  regular  income.  This  was  increased  to  $800  by 
extra  work,  and  he  was  promised  $1000  the  second  year. 
The  editor  of  those  days  himself  wrote  most  of  his  maga 
zine ;  and  Poe  published  in  the  Messenger,  not  only  an 
enormous  amount  of  critical  work,  but  some  of  his  best  tales 
(for  example,  Berenice  and  Mbrella),  and  a  few  of  his  best 
poems  (such  as  Israfel,  and  the  first  To  Helen).  How  well 
his  work  was  done  may  be  gathered  from  the  fact  that  the 
circulation  of  the  magazine  increased  from  seven  hundred 
to  five  thousand  during  the  year  he  was  connected  with  it. 
His  surrender  of  this  position  after  such  success  is  one  of 
many  acts  of  Poe's  life  not  readily  explained.  His  eccen 
tricities  disturbed  Mr.  White,  the  matter-of-fact  owner  of 
the  Messenger ;  his  sensitive  nature  was  easily  hurt  by  his 
employer ;  and  his  severe  criticisms  of  many  American 
writers  had  brought  suggestions  to  White  that  it  would  be 
well  to  part  with  his  editor  at  the  first  opportunity.  Any 
one  of  these  reasons  may  account  for  his  move. 

In  New  York.  — Leaving  Richmond  in  January,  1837,  Poe 
went  to  New  York,  where  he  seems  to  have  had  no  regular 
occupation,  possibly  because  of  the  financial  panic.  He 
completed  and  published  in  book  form  the  Narrative  of 
Arthur  Gordon  Pym,  a  realistic  account  of  Antarctic  explo 
ration  which  he  had  begun  in  the  Messenger.  Beyond  this 

1  The  reader  should  remember  that  every  dollar  in  1835  had  the  pur 
chasing  power  of  from  three  to  five  dollars  to-day. 


ANALYTICAL  TALES  111 

book  and  a  single  critical  article  in  the  New  York  Review 
Poe  seems  to  have  published  nothing  while  in  New  York. 

In  Philadelphia. — From  1838  to  1844  his  home  was  in 
Philadelphia,  where  he  wrote  for  various  magazines,  and 
where  in  January,  1841,  he  issued  a  prospectus  for  one  of 
his  own,  to  be  called  the  Penn  Magazine.  Ever  since  his 
connection  with  the  Southern  Literary  Messenger  Poe  had 
longed  to  have  under  his  control  a  periodical  which  should 
be  independent  and  fearless,  supporting  "  the  general  inter 
ests  of  the  republic  of  letters,  without  reference  to  particular 
regions."  It  was  to  be  independent  of  booksellers  and 
cliques,  and  to  leave  nothing  to  be  desired  on  the  mechanical 
side.  The  scheme  fell  through,  however,  and  he  became 
editor  of  Graham' *s  Magazine,  where  he  repeated  his  success 
with  the  Messenger,  increasing  its  circulation  from  8000  to 
40,000  in  a  little  more  than  a  year.  In  1840  there  had 
appeared  Poe's  Tales  of  the  Grotesque  and  the  Arabesque,  a 
two-volume  collection  containing  Ligeia,  which  the  author 
considered  his  best,  and  The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher, 
which  is  ranked  first  by  the  critics.  The  collection  did  not 
sell ;  and  when  a  year  later  he  offered  the  same  publishers 
a  new  edition,  with  eight  new  tales  added,  they  declined, 
saying  that  the  previous  venture  had  not  returned  them  the 
expense  of  publication.  This  fact  gives  some  idea  of  the 
literary  taste  of  America  in  the  forties;  for  Poe's  profit 
from  the  1840  Tales  was  twenty  copies  for  distribution 
among  friends ! 

Analytical  Tales.  — After  leaving  Graham's  and  finding  no 
other  desirable  literary  connection,  Poe  sought  a  government 
appointment  in  Washington,  seeing  a  "  disposition  in  gov 
ernment  to  cherish  letters."  He  did  not  profess  any  en 
thusiasm  for  clerical  work,  but  merely  desired  a  living 
salary  independent  of  literature.  He  failed  in  his  efforts, 
and  seems  to  have  had  no  income  for  nearly  a  year  except 


112 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


t/Mi. 


no 


FACSIMILE  OF  A  LETTEK  OF  POE. 
In  which  he  designates  Ligeia  as  his  best  story. 


AGAIN  IN  NEW  YORK  113 

a  one  hundred  dollar  prize  awarded  TJie  Gold  Bug  (1843), 
probably  his  best-known  tale.  A  year  after  its  publication 
Poe  asserted  that  over  300,000  copies  had  been  circulated. 
"  From  this  tale,"  says  A.  Conan  Doyle,  "  all  stories  of 
ciphers  and  treasure  are  to  be  dated."  To  the  Philadelphia 
period  belongs  also  the  Murders  in  the  Rue  Morgue,  one  of 
the  greatest  of  his  detective  stories.  Of  Poe's  work  in  this 
field  Doyle,  Poe's  most  distinguished  successor,  says:  "Prob 
lem  and  solution  must  form  the  theme,  and  character-draw 
ing  be  limited  and  subordinate.  On  this  narrow  path  the 
writer  must  walk,  and  he  sees  the  footmarks  of  Poe  always 
in  front  of  him.  He  is  happy  if  he  ever  finds  the  means  of 
breaking  away  and  striking  out  on  some  little  side-track  of 
his  own." 

In  1843  Poe  gave  his  cordial  support  to  the  Pioneer,  a 
magazine  started  in  Boston  by  Lowell,  with  much  the  same 
aims  and  ideals  as  the  Penn.  This  venture  failed  after  the 
third  number,  and  Poe  soon  issued  another  prospectus  for 
an  independent  journal  to  be  called  the  Stylus,  merely  "  my 
old  Penn  revived  and  remodeled  under  better  auspices." 
Lowell  returned  the  compliment  of  Poe's  support  of  the 
Pioneer,  and  had  greater  hopes  for  the  Stylus  ;  "  for,"  he 
wrote  to  Poe,  "  I  think  you  understand  editing  vastly  better 
than  I  ...  and  you  have  more  .  .  .  industry  than  I." 
But  the  Stylus  never  saw  the  light ;  and  in  April,  1844,  Poe 
removed  again  to  New  York. 

Again  in  New  York.  —  After  some  months  of  hack-work 
Poe  joined  the  staff  of  the  Evening  Mirror,  in  which  on 
January  29,  1845,  appeared  The  Raven,  the  first  of  the 
author's  poems  to  attain  immediate  popular  success.  The 
notoriety  thus  gained  brought  Poe  the  offer  of  a  more  agree 
able  situation,  coeditor  of  the  Broadway  Journal,  of  which 
he  subsequently  became  editor  and  proprietor.  The  Journal 
failed  in  less  than  a  year,  solely  through  the  proprietor's 


114  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

lack  of  business  ability.  Judged  even  by  the  low  standards 
of  the  day,  Poe  never  got  a  fair  return  for  his  work,  either 
as  his  own  master  or  as  an  employee. 

Death  of  his  Wife.  —  In  the  early  summer  of  1846  Poe 
moved  to  a  cottage  in  Fordham,  then  a  suburb  of  New  York 
City,  and  furnished  it  (very  m eagerly)  with  money  gained 
in  a  lawsuit.  Here  with  his  child-wife  and  her  mother  — 
Poe's  "  more  than  mother  "  —  he  lived  in  extreme  poverty 
and  wretchedness.  Their  condition  was  brought  to  public 
notice,  and  this  added  to  Poe's  distress;  but  some  relief 
came  through  a  Mrs.  Shew,  who  collected  a  small  amount  of 
money  for  the  sufferers,  and  helped  them  greatly  by  her 
company  and  advice.  A  grief  which  neither  money  nor 
sympathy  could  help  was,  however,  not  far  distant.  Vir 
ginia  Poe,  who  had  ruptured  a  blood-vessel  some  years 
previously,  showed  unmistakable  signs  of  decline  soon  after 
the  move  to  Fordham,  and  grew  rapidly  worse  through  the 
fall,  passing  away  in  January,  1847.  Poe  now  suffered,  as 
one  biographer  puts  it,  "  the  exquisite  agony  of  utter  loneli 
ness."  So  often  had  he  in  imagination  gone  through  the 
misery  of  seeing  her  die  that  her  actual  death  brought  a  new 
sort  of  misery.  He  was  threatened  with  brain  fever,  from 
which  Mrs.  Shew,  who  had  received  medical  training,  feared 
he  would  not  recover  without  the  use  of  stimulants,  and 
these  he  could  not  use. 

He  did  recover,  however,  and  returned  to  his  miscel 
laneous  literary  work,  writing  near  the  close  of  the  year 
Ulalume,  about  which  there  is  probably  wider  difference  of 
opinion  than  about  any  other  of  his  compositions.  The 
haunting  music  is  there,  as  usual,  also  the  atmosphere  of 
mystery;  but  the  meaning  is  to  most  readers  very  obscure. 
Professor  Woodberry  understands  it  as  "  the  language  of  a 
spirit  sunk  in  a  blank  and  moaning  despair,  and  at  every 
move  beaten  back  helplessly  upon  itself." 


LAST  MONTHS  115 

In  the  autumn  of  1848  Poe  met  Mrs.  Sarah  Helen  Whit 
man,  whose  verses  he  had  admired  and  who  had  greatly 
admired  his.  They  became  engaged;  but  the  engagement 
was  broken  by  her  friends,  who  with  some  reason,  perhaps, 
considered  him  unfit  to  be  her  husband.  Mrs.  Whitman 
afterwards  was  very  bitter  towards  these  "friends," 
and  was  one  of  the  first  to  defend  the  poet's  memory 
against  the  slanders  of  his  first  biographer  and  other 
scandalmongers.  "  This  tragedy  of  the  heart,"  said  one 
who  knew  her  well,  "  colored  all  the  rest  of  her  life." 

Last  Months.  —  Poe's  affections  for  women  were  "  intense 
but  fleeting."  Within  a  year  after  the  episode  with  Mrs. 
Whitman,  while  on  a  visit  and  lecturing-  tour  in  Virginia, 
he  met  Mrs.  Shelton  (the  Miss  Royster  of  his  youth),  and 
became  engaged  to  her.  The  few  months  of  this  trip  seem 
to  have  been  the  happiest  since  he  reached  manhood ;  but 
he  was  not  destined  to  have  them  prolonged.  In  October, 
1849,  he  left  Richmond  for  New  York,  to  wind  up  some 
business  affairs  before  his  marriage  to  Mrs.  Shelton,  and 
traveled  by  boat  to  Baltimore,  where  he  met  his  death  — 
how  will  doubtless  never  be  known. 

He  landed  in  Baltimore  on  election  day,  when  elections 
were  shamefully  (mis)-conducted ;  and  the  most  plausible 
explanation  of  his  death  is  that  advanced  by  Professor 
Harrison,  that  he  was  caught  by  a  gang  and  drugged  so 
they  might  "vote"  him  all  over  the  city.  This  is  known 
to  have  been  a  common  practice  at  that  time  with  strangers ; 
and  in  one  of  the  voting  places  where  these  gangs  operated 
Poe  was  found  insensible  by  Dr.  Snodgrass,  a  friend  to 
whom  his  whereabouts  had  been  communicated,  and  who 
took  him  to  a  hospital.  All  efforts  to  revive  him  were  un 
successful,  and  he  died  October  7,  without  regaining  con 
sciousness  sufficiently  to  give  any  account  of  his  experiences. 
He  was  buried  in  Baltimore. 


116 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


An  Inexplicable  Character.  —  It  may  be  doubted  whether 
one  short  life  has  ever  been  rilled  with  so  many  contro 
versies  as  Poe's,  or  has  ever  given  rise  to  so  many  contro 
versies  after  its  close.  Nearly  every  one  of  his  journalistic 
changes,  nearly  every  one  of  his  love  affairs,  and  a  large 
number  of  his  criticisms,  have  raised  questions  that  are  still 
unanswered.  He  was  never  a  hard  drinker;  but  he  did 


RESIDENCE  OF  JOHN  ALLAN,  POE'S  FOSTER-FATHER. 

Though  not  a  handsome  structure,  it  was  long  a  notable  landmark  at  the 
top  of  one  of  Richmond's  seven  hills. 

yield  at  times  to  an  inherited  weakness.  He  was  always 
in  poverty  —  "often  abject  and  always  extreme."  He  was 
certainly  willful  and  impatient  of  restraint,  and  he  was  con 
scious  of  possessing  far  greater  abilities  than  most  of  those 
for  whom  he  worked.  Here  is  sufficient  explanation  of  his 
difficulty  in  getting  on  with  people.  Moreover,  while  he 
was  a  fearless  and  usually  sincere  critic,  he  had  strong  prej 
udices  and  "hobbies."  For  an  example  of  the  first,  he  felt 
himself  a  Southern  writer,  and  believed  that  there  were 


AN  INEXPLICABLE  CHARACTER  117 

conspiracies  among  booksellers  and  other  critics  to  deny  any 
merit  to  Southern  writers.  This  led  him  to  break  a  long 
friendship  with  Lowell  by  a  quite  undeserved  attack  on  the 
Fable  for  Critics,  in  which  Poe  was  the  only  Southern 
writer  mentioned.  For  an  example  of  the  second,  the  de 
tection  of  plagiarism  was  almost  a  mania  with  him.  He 
especially  pursued  Longfellow  with  this  last  charge,  and 
carried  on  so  lengthy  a  controversy  with  that  poet's  friends 
that  it  is  known  as  "the  Longfellow  war."  It  is  worth 
noting  that  Longfellow  himself  took  no  part  in  it,  and 
wished  his  friends  to  refrain.  His  explanation  of  Poe's 
attitude  towards  him  is  evidence  that  he  did  not  take  the 
matter  to  heart.  Said  he :  "  The  harshness  of  his  criti 
cisms  I  have  never  attributed  to  anything  but  the  irritation 
of  a  sensitive  nature,  chafed  by  some  indefinite  sense  of 
wrong." 

Controversies  regarding  the  facts  of  Poe's  life  began  al 
most  immediately  after  his  death.  A  certain  Reverend 
Doctor  Griswold  published  an  "  authorized  "  life,  which  was 
full  of  misstateme-nts,  some  apparently  intentional.  There 
had  been  a  disagreement  between  the  two  men,  and  Gris 
wold  seems  to  have  waited  till  he  might  take  his  revenge 
without  fear  of  a  return  blow ;  but  he  reckoned  without  the 
poet's  friends,  who  immediately  rushed  to  the  defense  ;  and 
for  thirty  years  the  warfare  continued.  The  thorough  re 
searches  of  the  biographers  of  Poe,  and  the  careful  analysis 
of  such  writers  as  Mr.  J.  M.  Robertson  1  may  be  said  to  have 
settled  all  points  in  dispute  which  can  be  settled  in  this  world. 

Poe's  rank  as  a  writer  is  now  not  much  in  dispute.  As 
poet  and  as  short-story  writer  his  place  is  admittedly  at  the 
top,  and  his  critical  work  no  longer  calls  for  apology. 

1ln  New  Essays  towards  a  Critical  Method.  This  admirable  example 
of  "  collective  "  criticism  seems  to  the  present  writer  the  best  short  study 
of  Poe  that  has  yet  appeared. 


118  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Poe  the  Critic.  —  Much  of  his  criticism  deals  with  books 
of  only  passing  interest,  as  do  our  magazines  and"  Saturday 
book  supplements  "  to-day.  He  was  inclined  to  overpraise 
women  writers,  and  as  mentioned  above,  to  charge  plagi 
arism  on  the  discovery  of  the  slightest  similarities  in  works. 
But  he  was  one  of  the  first  to  recognize  and  proclaim  the 
genius  of  Bryant  and  Hawthorne  in  America,  and  of 
Tennyson  and  Mrs.  Browning  in  England.  His  exposition 
of  "  The  Short-story  " l  in  his  review  of  Twice  Told  Tales  is 
a  classic  definition  of  a  type  of  literature.  On  the  whole 
Poe's  work  as  critic  was  beneficial  and  creditable. 

The  Story-teller.  —  In  the  field  of  the  short-story  he  is 
supreme,  though  at  times  he  is  closely  approached  by 
Hawthorne.  Both  were  eminently  successful  in  allegorical 
and  supernatural  tales ;  but  Poe's  analytical  tales  have  no 
parallel  in  the  New  England  writer,  and  it  is  this  class  to 
which  Conan  Doyle  gives  the  high  praise  quoted  above. 
Poe  manages  his  suspense  better  than  Hawthorne,  and  the 
meaning  of  his  allegories  is  not  so  evident,  or  enforced  with 
so  great  insistence ;  his  supernatural  tales  are  wholly  super 
natural,  and  not  of  divided  interest  and  effect.  Hawthorne 
had,  as  we  shall  see,  merits  denied  to  Poe,  and  it  is  quite 
unnecessary  to  tag  the  writers  as  first  and  second. 

The  Poet.  —  The  range  of  Poe's  poetry  is  as  limited  as 
Bryant's,  and  his  total  product  smaller  even  than  Bryant's, 
which  we  have  seen  was  very  small.  Only  a  few  subjects 
are  treated  in  verse  by  Poe,  and  his  five  or  six  greatest 
poems  treat  only  one  —  death.  Poetry  he  defines  in  The 
Poetic  Principle  as  "  the  rhythmical  creation  of  beauty  " ; 
and  in  The  Philosophy  of  Composition,  which  purports  to  be 
an  account  of  how  he  wrote  The  Raven,  he  asserts  that  "  the 
death  of  a  beautiful  woman  is,  unquestionably,  the  most 
poetical  topic  in  the  world."  Hence,  we  find  death  the 

1  See  page  80,  Note  2. 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  119 

subject  of  The  Conqueror  Worm,  Tlie  Haunted  Palace,  The 
City  in  the  Sea;  and  the  death  of  a  beautiful  woman,  of  The 
Raven,  Ulalume,  Lenore,  and  Annabel  Lee.  Some  one  has 
called  Poe  the  world's  greatest  artist  of  death. 

Perhaps  the  criticism  that  Poe  himself  would  have  appre 
ciated  most  is  that  of  the  poet  Tennyson  in  1885,  with  which 
we  shall  close  this  sketch.  "  There  is  one  spot  in  America,'7 
said  Tennyson,  "  which  I  would  like  to  visit,  viz.,  the  long- 
neglected  spot  in  Baltimore  l  where  the  greatest  American 
genius  lies  buried.  In  my  opinion  your  Bryant,  Whittier, 
etc.,  are  pygmies  compared  with  Poe.  He  is  the  literary 
glory  of  America.  More  than  thirty-five  years  have  elapsed 
since  his  death,  and  his  fame  is  constantly  increasing. 
That  is  a  true  test  of  genius." 

NATHANIEL    HAWTHORNE,    1804-1864 

A  Product  of  New  England.  —  While  Cooper  seems  to  have 
had  no  spiritual  or  literary  ancestry,  and  while  Poe's  was  a 
composite  the  elements  of  which  it  is  difficult  to  place, 
Hawthorne's  was,  like  Bryant's,  pure  New  England.  His 
forefathers  were  prominent  in  the  life  of  the  colony ;  but 
any  pride  he  felt  from  this  fact  was  almost  destroyed  by  the 
recollection  that  one  of  them  as  a  judge  sanctioned  perse 
cution  of  witches  and  Quakers.  Endicott's  Puritan  fol 
lowers  Hawthorne  calls  "  most  dismal  wretches  "  ;  but  the 
bent  of  his  mind  was  a  direct  inheritance  from  these  fore 
fathers.  The  life  of  the  soul,  the  conscience  of  man,  was 
what  interested  him ;  and  whatever  he  saw,  read,  or  thought 
gave  rise  to  a  moral  lesson.  Moreover,  both  his  reading 
and  his  writing  would  on  the  whole  have  pleased  seven 
teenth  century  Massachusetts.  His  boyhood  " amusements  " 

1  Tennyson  was  mistaken  regarding  the  neglect.  A  monument  had 
been  erected  over  Poe's  grave  in  1875. 


120 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


were  Pilgrim's  Progress  and  TJie  Faerie  Queene;  and  his 
manhood  products  were  "  the  most  consistently  gloomy  of 
English  novels  of  the  first  rank,"  and  a  number  of  "  singu 
larly  dismal  compositions.7'1  The  Scarlet  Letter  is,  in  the 
author's  own  words,  "  a  tale  of  human  frailty  and  sorrow." 
Nathaniel  Hawthorne  was  born  in  Salem,  Massachusetts, 

July  4, 1804.  Early  in 
life  he  acquired  what 
he  called  his  "cursed 
habit  of  solitude,"  a 
habit  which  was  en 
couraged  by  irregular 
schooling  under  tutors. 
In  1821  he  entered 
Bowdoin  College, 
Maine,  in  the  class  with 
Longfellow,  and  with 
Franklin  Pierce,  after 
wards  President  of  the 
nation.  At  college, 
where  he  was  called 
"Oberon,"  because  of 
his  beauty  and  his 
romantic  stories,  he 
was  not  a  diligent  stu 
dent,  but  managed  to 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 


"For   many  years   the   obscurest   man  of 

letters  in  America."      (Preface  to   Twice 

Told  Tales.} 


attain  distinction  in 
Latin  and  in  composition.  "The  best  thing  Bowdoin 
College  did  for  him,"  says  Conway,  "  was  to  give  him  three 
or  four  friends." 

Beginnings  of  Authorship.  —  After  graduation  in  1825  he 
returned  to  Salem,  and  remained  there  in  seclusion  twelve 

i  Henry  James,  Life  of  Hawthorne,  referring  to  The  Scarlet  Letter,  and 
"  the  best  of  the  Mosses." 


AT  BROOK   FARM  121 

years.  About  the  time  of  his  return  he  wrote  to  his  sister: 
"  I  shall  never  make  a  distinguished  figure  in  the  world, 
and  all  I  hope  or  wish  is  to  plod  along  with  the  multitude." 
He  wrote  much  during  these  years,  but  published  little,  and 
that  little  under  assumed  names,  for  example,  "Oberon," 
which  we  can  understand,  and  "  Rev.  A.  A.  Royce,"  which 
we  cannot.  With  such  methods  and  such  lack  of  ambition 
it  is  no  wonder  that  he  could  call  himself  in  1837  "the  ob 
scurest  man  of  letters  in  America."  In  1828  had  appeared 
Fanshawe,  a  college  story  which  he  afterwards  suppressed. 
From  1830  various  short-stories  and  sketches  of  his  found 
their  way  into  the  then  popular  annuals,  the  best  of  which 
appeared  in  1837  as  Twice  Told  Tales,  a  second  volume  being 
added  five  years  later. 

At  Brook  Farm.  —  In  1841  Hawthorne  took  "  the  only  ap 
parently  freakish  action  of  his  life"  —  joined  Brook  Farm, 
a  socialistic  community  just  organized  in  a  suburb  of  Boston 
(West  Roxbury),  one  of  those  expressions  of  Transcenden 
talism  l  in  which,  according  to  Lowell,  "  everything  was  com 
mon  except  common  sense."  Hawthorne  lost  a  thousand 
dollars  in  it  besides  his  time,  and  seems  to  have  regretted 
the  latter  more  than  the  former.  "  Is  it  a  praiseworthy 
matter,"  he  writes,  "  that  I  have  spent  five  golden  months 
in  providing  food  for  cows  and  horses?  It  is  not  so." 
Elsewhere  he  asserts  that  any  amount  of  physical  labor  is 
incompatible  with  intellectual.  One  good  result  of  Haw 
thorne's  experience  at  Brook  Farm  was  TJie  Blithedale  Ro 
mance.  While  he  claimed  that  this  is  not  a  picture  of  the 
community,  he  admitted  that  he  had  the  community  in 
mind,  and  "  occasionally  availed  himself  of  his  actual 
reminiscences." 

In  July,  1842,  Hawthorne  married  Miss  Sophie  Peabody, 
daughter  of  a  Salem  physician,  to  whom  he  had  been 
1  See  page  160. 


122  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

engaged  three  years ;  and  they  took  up  their  residence  at 
Concord,  in  the  Old  Manse,  formerly  occupied  by  Emerson. 
Here  they  lived  a  supremely  happy  and  quiet  life  for  several 
years,  until  through  the  influence  of  friends,  Hawthorne 
was  appointed  surveyor  of  the  Custom  House  at  Salem. 
In  the  same  year  he  published  Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse, 


THE  OLD  MANSE. 

a  collection  of  tales  and  sketches,  not  all  written  in  Con 
cord,  and  some  written  twelve  or  fifteen  years  before. 

"  The  Scarlet  Letter."  —  He  produced  nothing  during  his 
three  years  in  the  Custom  House;  but  The  Scarlet  Letter 
took  shape  in  his  mind,  and  was  published  in  1850.  This, 
by  common  consent  his  greatest  work,  is  a  study  of  punish 
ment,  with  the  moral :  "  Be  true  !  Be  true  !  Be  true !  Show 
freely  to  the  world,  if  not  your  worst,  yet  some  trait 


"THE  SCARLET  LETTER"  123 

whereby  the  worst  may  be  inferred  !  "  The  punishment  of 
the  minister,  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  was  not  the  recollection 
of  sin,  but  the  consciousness  that,  because  he  was  conceal 
ing  a  sin,  his  every  moment  of  life  was  a  lie.  Though 
Julian  Hawthorne  records  that  his  father  "  did  not  think  it 
a  natural  book  for  him  to  write,"  it  seems  eminently  natural 
to  a  student  of  Hawthorne's  work  as  a  whole ;  for  not  only 
is  sin  in  various  forms  the  theme  of  many  of  his  short- 
stories  and  of  his  four  romances,  but  two  of  the  Tivice  Told 
Tales  are  directly  connected  with  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

In  The  Minister's  Black  Veil  Rev.  Mr.  Hooper  wears  a 
piece  of  black  crape  constantly  before  his  face,  typifying  the 
hiding  by  every  man  of  his  secret  sins  from  his  neighbors. 
In  Endicott  and  the  Red  Cross,  in  a  group  of  malefactors 
undergoing  punishment,  there  "  was  a  young  woman  whose 
doom  it  was  to  wear  the  letter  A  on  the  breast  of  her 
gown.  .  .  .  Sporting  with  her  infamy,  the  lost  and  desper 
ate  creature  had  embroidered  the  fatal  token  in  scarlet  cloth, 
with  golden  thread  and  the  nicest  art  of  needle-work;  so 
that  the  capital  A  might  have  been  thought  to  mean  Admi 
rable,  or  anything  rather  than  Adulteress." 

It  was  said  that  Hawthorne  did  not  know  how  The  Scarlet 
Letter  was  going  to  end ;  but  his  son  has  told  us  that  the 
anecdote  is  connected  with  the  wrong  story  —  that  it  was 
true  of  Rappaccinfs  Daughter,  in  the  Mosses.  And  indeed, 
it  is  hard  to  see  how  the  Letter  could  end  otherwise  than 
as  it  does  end.  There  is  no  hint  of  forgiveness,  and  none 
is  needed ;  but  the  uncovering  of  the  minister's  sin  and  the 
defeat  of  the  wronged  husband's  plan  for  revenge  are  essen 
tial  to  the  working  out  of  the  theme. 

The  Scarlet  Letter  made  Hawthorne's  fame  secure;  but 
in  an  introduction  called  The  Custom  House  he  offended 
his  townsmen  by  holding  a  number  of  them  up  to  ridicule. 
Although  in  the  preface  to  the  second  edition  he  asserted 


124 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


that  he  had  written  the  introduction  with  perfect  good 
humor,  and  that  he  saw  no  reason  to  alter  it,  Salem  was 
unconvinced,  and  the  town  ceased  from  that  time  to  be  a 
congenial  abode.  Accordingly,  in  the  spring  of  1850  he 
moved  to  a  cottage  in  the  Berkshire  Hills,  and  remained 
there  a  year  and  a  half.  Finding  this  location  unsuited  to 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES. 

his  health,  he  again  moved,  this  time  to  West  Newton,  near 
Boston,  where  the  Peabodys  lived.  Six  months  later  he 
purchased  "  The  Wayside,"  a  twenty-acre  country  residence 
at  Concord,  his  last  home. 

"Seven  Gables,"  and  " Blithedale." —  Two  other  romances 
were  written  during  these  years  of  migration —  The  House 
of  the  Seven  Gables,  in  the  Berkshires,  and  The  Blithedale  Ro 
mance,  at  West  Newton.  For  most  readers  the  former  of 


CONSUL  AT  LIVERPOOL  125 

these  is  more  agreeable  reading  than  Hawthorne's  other 
long  stories;  for  the  glimpses  of  life  in  Salem  are  interest 
ing,  and  the  Pyncheon  family,  around  whom  the  story 
centers,  are  more  entertaining  than  any  other  group  in 
Hawthorne.  The  theme,  is  the  visiting  of  the  father's  sins 
upon  the  children  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation ;  but 
the  quality  of  humor  is  more  prominent  here  than  else 
where,  the  author  comes  nearer  than  usual  to  being  a  real 
ist,  the  story  ends  satisfactorily,  and  the  somber  moral  is 
not  oppressive.  The  inspiration  of  The  Blithedale  Romance 
—  the  author's  experience  at  Brook  Farm  —  has  been  men 
tioned.  It  is  the  least  interesting  of  the  romances,  and 
such  interest  as  it  has  is  not  for  young  people.  In  it  is 
found  Zenobia,  "  the  high-spirited  Woman,  bruising  herself 
against  the  narrow  limitations  of  her  sex,"  whom  one  biog 
rapher  considers  Hawthorne's  "  only  very  definite  attempt 
at  the  representation  of  a  character."  There  is  little  action 
in  the  story,  and  the  moral  is  too  plain  and  manifest  —  a 
criticism  Hawthorne  himself  passed  on  TJie  Great  Stone  Face. 

"  The  Marble  Faun."  —  It  seems  well  at  this  point  to  dis 
regard  the  chronological  order,  and  mention  The  Marble 
Faun,  written  during  his  residence  abroad  and  published  in 
1860.  This  obscure  and  mysterious  story  raised  many 
questions,  to  all  of  which  the  author  replied  that  for  those 
asking  such  the  book  is  a  failure.  Its  chief  interest  is  as 
a  picture  of  Rome  under  its  two  most  striking  aspects :  as 
the  fountain-head  of  Roman  Catholicism,  and  as  the  land 
of  art  and  the  favorite  resort  for  artists.  This  background 
seems  at  times  rather  overdone ;  but  it  has  made  the  book 
almost  a  standard  guide  for  Rome  —  a  fact  which  would 
have  amazed  and  probably  disgusted  the  author  had  he  lived 
to  know  it. 

Consul  at  Liverpool.  —  The  residence  abroad  just  men 
tioned  began  when  Hawthorne  had  been  only  a  year  at 


126 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


"  The  Wayside,''  his  new  Concord  home ;  and  the  occasion  of 
it  was  his  appointment  by  President  Pierce,  his  old  college 
mate,  as  consul  at  Liverpool.  He  held  the  post  the  full  term 
of  four  years,  but  was  by  no  means  a  shining  success  in  Eng 
land.  Being  of  an  unsociable,  retiring  disposition,  he  met 
very  few  literary  men  of  high  rank.  Instead  of  living  in 


"WAYSIDE,"  CONCORD. 
Hawthorne's  last  home. 

the  city  of  Liverpool,  he  took  a  house  in  a  suburb  across 
the  Mersey;  and  to  a  friend  he  wrote:  "I  like  the  situation 
all  the  better  because  it  will  render  it  impossible  for  me  to 
go  to  parties,  or  to  give  parties  myself,  and  will  keep  me 
out  of  a  good  deal  of  nonsense."  'His  volume  dealing  with 
England  and  the  English,  Our  Old  Home,  is  far  from  sat 
isfactory  and  gave  great  offense  to  that  country,  just  as 


CONSUL  AT  LIVERPOOL 


127 


The  Custom  House  had  to  Salem.  Its  chief  defect  is  that  it 
is  based  on  very  limited  observation,  and  that  not  of  repre 
sentative  classes  of  the  people. 

Eetiring  from  the  consulate  in  the  .autumn  of  1857, 
Hawthorne  went  to  the  Continent,  where  he  spent  a  year 
and  a  half,  mostly  in  Rome.  Here  he  got  the  material 


DINING  ROOM  AT  "  WAYSIDE." 

for  the  comprehensible  part  of  The  Marble  Faun;  but  the 
city  was  not  more  tolerable  to  him  than  Liverpool.  Liver 
pool  had  been  "  smoky,  noisy,  dirty,  pestilential "  —  "a 
most  detestable  place  as  a  residence "  —  "a  black  and  mis 
erable  hole."  Rome  he  bitterly  detested.  "In  fact,"  he 
wrote,  "I  wish  the  very  site  had  been  obliterated  before 
1  ever  saw  it." 


128  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Return  Home,  and  Death.  —  Hawthorne  reached  Concord 
in  June,  1860,  on  the  eve  of  the  war,  was  cordially  re 
ceived  by  the  villagers,  and  appeared  to  be  more  interested 
in  them  than  formerly.  His  health  showed  signs  of  break 
ing,  and  the  struggle  of  his  countrymen  distressed  him 
greatly.  His  strange  attitude  toward  it  is  indicated  in 
a  letter  to  his  friend  Bridge :  "  Though  I  approve  of  the 
war  as  much  as  any  man,  I  don't  quite  understand  what 
we  are  fighting  for,  or  what  definite  result  can  be  expected. 
Whatever  happens  next,  I  must  say  that  I  rejoice  that  the 
old  Union  is  smashed.  We  never  were  one  people,  and 
never  really  had  a  country  since  the  constitution  was 
formed."  And  this  man  had  said  New  England  was  as 
big  a  spot  as  he  could  hold  in  his  heart,  yet  was  allied 
with  the  political  party  whose  strength  was  in  the  South ! 
Early  in  1864  Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  advised  him  to 
take  a  quiet  tour,  though  neither  physician  nor  patient  had 
any  confidence  in  the  outcome.  On  this  tour  Hawthorne 
started  with  Pierce  as  companion.  The  end  came  in  Ply 
mouth,  New  Hampshire,  where  they  had  stopped  for  the 
night.  He  was  buried  in  Sleepy  Hollow  Cemetery,  Concord. 

The  Short-stories.  —  Hawthorne  holds  a  place  as  writer  of 
short-stories  second  only  (if  really  second)  to  Poe,  and  it  is 
his  work  in  this  field  that  attracts  young  readers.  We  have 
noted  that  Poe  wrote  analytical  tales  which  have  no  parallel 
in  Hawthorne.  It  should  be  noted  also  that  Hawthorne 
wrote  of  New  England  colonial  history  as  Poe  could  have 
written  of  no  definite  time  or  place.  In  The  Gray 
Champion,  Endicott  and  the  Red  Cross,  Young  Goodman 
Brown,  Roger  Malvin's  Burial,  The  Maypole  of  Merry  Mount, 
Drowne's  Wooden  Image  —  to  mention  only  a  few  of  the 
most  striking  —  the  spirit  and  times  of  his  forefathers  are 
made  to  live  again  for  us.  While,  as  we  have  said,  the 


BOOKS  FOR  CHILDREN  129 

bent  of  his  mind  was  a  direct  inheritance  from  these  fore 
fathers,  he  had  no  sympathy  with  their  ideals  of  life.  The 
Maypole  of  Merry  Mount  (Twice  Told  Tales)  presents  the 
Puritans  in  the  attitude  of  their  fellows  in  old  England, 
who  opposed  bear-baiting,  not  because  it  gave  pain  to  the 
bear,  but  because  it  gave  pleasure  to  the  spectators.  Endi- 
cott  is  here  represented  as  opposing  the  Maypole  dances 
because  the  time  would  be  better  spent  by  these  youths  in 
making  themselves  "  valiant  to  fight,  and  sober  to  toil,  and 
pious  to  pray." 

In  Drowne's  Wooden  Image  (Mosses)  is  a  mixture  of  this 
historical  background  with  an  allegory.  The  scene  is 
Boston  "in  the  good  old  times";  and  the  story  tells  of  a 
wood  carver,  Drowne,  who  in  one  "brief  season  of  excite 
ment,  kindled  by  love,"  made  a  female  figure  which  accord 
ing  to  an  accepted  rumor  came  to  life.  Only  this  one  great 
work  did  he  perform ;  but  Hawthorne  draws  the  moral  that 
"the  very  highest  state  to  which  a  human  being  can  attain, 
in  its  loftiest  aspirations,  is  its  truest  and  most  natural 
state."  Young  Goodman  Brown  deals,  like  The  Minister's 
Black  Veil  and  The  Scarlet  Letter,  with  the  problem  of 
concealed  sin.  Brown  has  the  real  natures  of  his  most 
honored  neighbors  revealed  to  him ;  and,  seeing  them 
hypocrites,  becomes  from  that  time  "a  stern,  a  sad,  a 
darkly  meditative,  a  distrustful,  if  not  a  desperate  man." 

Books  for  Children.  —  Three  of  Hawthorne's  collections  of 
tales  are  addressed  to  even  younger  readers  than  are  the 
stories  we  have  just  been  discussing.  These  ar=,  Grand 
father's  Chair,  A  Wonder  Book,  and  Tanglewood  Tales, 
the  first  a  group  from  early  New  England  history,  and  the 
others  from  the  field  of  myth  and  legend.  Grandfather's 
Chair  was  written  at  the  instance  of  his  wife's  sister ;  but 
the  later  volumes  were  the  outcome  of  his  own  experience 
as  an  unusually  devoted  and  companionable  father. 


130 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


We  cannot  leave  Hawthorne  without  a  mention  of  his 
Note-Books  of  America,  England,  and  France  and  Italy,  which 
one  writer  calls  the  key  to  his  character.  They  were  written 
without  any  thought  of  publication,  the  American  notes 

covering  a  long  space  of 
time.  The  foreign  books 
are  diaries,  and  contain 
much  material  subse 
quently  used  in  stories. 
In  The  Marble  Faun, 
especially,  incident  after 
incident  is  narrated  and 
scene  after  scene  is  de 
scribed  just  as  we  find 
them  in  the  Italian  Note- 
Book.1  The  series  shows 
him  to  be  a  careful  ob 
server  of  people  and 
things,  constantly  striv 
ing  to  make  counte 
nances  disclose  souls ; 
a  man  of  prejudices, 
chiefly  those  of  a  patri 
otic  American,  with  at 

the  same  time  an  openness  to  new  influences;  a  lover  of 
solitude;  and  the  possessor  of  a  keen  sense  of  humor. 


THE   LITERATURE   OF   SLAVERY  AND   DISUNION 

We  have  said  above  that  politics,  literature,  and  life  in 
America  during  this  period  were  dominated  by  the  slavery 

1  Cf.,  e.g.,  Chap.  VII,  conversation  between  Miriam  and  Hilda  regarding 
the  portrait  of  Beatrice  Cenci,  with  the  entry  in  the  Note-Book  for  Feb.  20, 
1858;  Chap.  XX,  description  of  the  Church  of  the  Capuchins  and  a  monk's 
body  lying  in  state,  with  Note-Book  for  Feb.  17. 


HAWTHORNE'S    "STUDY"     IN    THE 
GROUNDS  AT  CONCORD. 


PROGRESS  OF  ANTISLAVERY  MOVEMENT     131 

question.  Most  of  the  writings  have  little  or  no  literary 
merit ;  but  even  the  least  of  them  is  worthy  of  note  as  part 
of  a  movement  producing  Webster's,,  Lincoln's,  and  Cal- 
houn's  speeches,  and  some  of  the  most  truly  inspired  poems 
that  Timrod,  Hayne,  and  Whittier  wrote. 

Early  Attacks  on  Slavery.  —  The  struggle  did  not  begin  in 
the  nineteenth  century.  As  early  as  1700  there  appeared  in 
New  England  a  small  book  protesting  against  slavery,  The 
Selling  of  Joseph,  by  Samuel  Sewall,  Chief  Justice  of  the 
Supreme  Court  of  Massachusetts.  For  nearly  half  of  the 
century  a  continuous  crusade  against  slavery  was  made  by 
John  Woolman,  discussed  in  the  preceding  chapter.  In 
1778  Virginia  prohibited  the  slave  trade,  and  the  next  year 
Jefferson  advocated,  unsuccessfully,  of  course,  emancipation 
for  Virginia.  A  strong  presentation  of  the  abuses  of  slavery 
appeared  in  1782  in  Crevecoeur's  Letters  of  an  American 
Farmer,  where  an  account  is  given  of  the  death  by  torture 
of  a  slave  assassin  in  the  South,  and  a  statement  is  quoted 
from  a  Southerner  that  such  treatment  was  essential  to  their 
very  existence. 

Progress  of  Antislavery  Movement.  —  Periodical  literature 
opposed  to  slavery  begins  about  1821,  with  William  Good- 
ell's  Investigator  in  Rhode  Island  and  Benjamin  Lundy's 
Genius  of  Universal  Emancipation  in  Ohio.  Far  more  in 
fluential  than  either  of  these  was  the  Liberator,  edited  by , 
William  Lloyd  Garrison,  who  had  for  a  short  time  -been 
associated  with  Lundy's  journal.  Garrison  continued  the 
Liberator  from  1831  to  1865,  retiring  when  the  fight  was 
won.  In  the  same  year  with  this  paper  Whittier  entered 
the  struggle  with  a  poem  addressed  to  Garrison.  Two  years 
later  came  Webster's  reply  to  Calhoun's  nullification  speech, 
which  clinched  for  the  New  Englander  the  title  of  "Defender 
of  the  Constitution."  Webster  was  not  interested  in  the 
abolition  of  slavery  for  itself,  but  was  forced  into  the  aboli- 


132  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

tionist  ranks  by  his  championship  of  Constitutional  govern 
ment  as  opposed  to  state  sovereignty.  Longfellow  wrote 
seven  rather  mild  poems  against  slavery  in  1842;  but  the 
next  year  came  Lowell  with  his  Stanzas  on  Freedom,  and 
began  an  abolition  campaign  in  verse  which  is  second  only 
to  Whittier's  in  intensity  and  vigor. 

The  greatest  of  all  the  opponents  of  slavery,  however, 
did  not  take  a  prominent  place  in  national  affairs  until  1856, 
when  he  aided  in  organizing  the  Republican  party,  —  made 
up  of  the  antislavery  element  in  all  the  old  parties.  This 
was  Abraham  Lincoln,  who,  nominated  four  years  later  for 
the  presidency  "  for  his  availability,  —  that  is,  because  he 
had  no  history,"  says  Lowell,  is  now  ranked,  as  the  same 
writer  predicted  he  would  be,  "among  the  most  prudent  of 
statesmen  and  the  most  successful  of  rulers."  Lincoln,  like 
Webster,  did  not  believe  in  the  right  of  the  government 
to  abolish  slavery,  but  insisted  on  its  right  to  prohibit  the 
extension  of  slavery  into  new  territory. 

Of  these  we  select  for  study  in  this  period  Webster  and 
Lincoln,  reserving  Whittier,  Longfellow,  and  Lowell  for  the 
next  chapter. 

DANIEL   WEBSTER,    1782-1852 

Life  to  1830.  —  Webster  was  born  in  Salisbury,  New 
.Hampshire,  on  January  18,  1782.  He  was  educated  at 
Phillips  Exeter  Academy  and  Dartmouth  College,  graduat 
ing  from  the  last  named  institution  in  1801.  He  studied 
law,  and  in  1807  began  to  practice  in  Portsmouth,  New 
Hampshire.  In  1816  he  removed  to  Boston,  and  soon  took 
his  place  among  the  leaders  in  his  profession.  Two  years 
later  he  conducted  a  case  for  his  Alma  Mater  before  the 
United  States  Supreme  Court,  and  laid  the  foundation  of 
his  fame  as  an  interpreter  of  the  Constitution.  In  1822  he 
was  elected  to  Congress  from  Boston,  and  was  twice  re- 


WEBSTER  VERSUS  HAYNE 


133 


elected.  Three  famous  nonpolitieal  occasional  addresses 
(L  e.,  prepared  for  special  occasions)  belong  to  this  period : 
First  Settlement  of  New  England,  on  the  two  hundredth 
anniversary  of  the  landing  at  Plymouth  Rock ;  the  first 
Bunker  Hill  Oration, 
on  laying  the  corner 
stone  of  the  monument ; 
and  Adams  and  Jeffer 
son,  a  eulogy  on  the 
two  ex-presidents,  who 
died  on  July  4,  1826. 

Webster  versus 
Hayne.  — From  1827  to 
1841,  and  from  1845 
to  1850,  Webster  was 
United  States  Senator 
from  Massachusetts, 
serving  for  two  years 
between  these  terms 
as  Secretary  of  State. 
During  the  first  of 
these  periods  he  was  in 
the  midst  of  the  anti- 
slavery  struggle,  and 
made  the  two  notable 


DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


Looking    at  this   picture,    one    has    little 
difficulty  in  believing  Webster  to  be  the 
original  of  "  Old   Stony  Phiz,"   in   Haw 
thorne's  The  Great  Stone  Face. 


speeches  which   estab 
lished  his  fame. 

The  first  of  these  great  speeches  was  the  Reply  to  Hayne 
in  1830.  Robert  Y.  Hayne,  Senator  from  South  Carolina, 
had  spoken  at  length  in  defense  of  his  state's  decision  that 
she  could  "judge  of  the  violation  of  the  Constitution  by  the 
Federal  Government  and  protect  her  citizens  from  the  opera 
tions  of  unconstitutional  laws."  The  speech  was  the  first 
outspoken  championing  of  nullification,  the  parent  of  seces- 


134  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

sion.  Webster's  reply  set  forth  what  he  believed  to  be 
"the  true  principles  of  the  Constitution  under  which  we 
are  here  assembled."  He  contended  that  the  Constitution 
emanates  "immediately  from  the  people,"  and  "is  not  the 
creature  of  the  state  governments."  As  a  consequence  no 
state  can  pass  "  on  constitutionality  or  unconstitutionality 
of  the  laws  " ;  this  is  left  to  the  Supreme  Court  by  an  act 
of  the  first  Congress.  On  the  subject  of  slavery  Webster 
took  the  position  that  it  was  in  the  hands  of  the  states,  and 
he  would  not  interfere  with  it.  t(  I  go  for  the  Constitution 
as  it  is,  and  for  the  Union  as  it  is."  Returning  to  this  in 
a  wonderful  and  unprepared  conclusion,  he  ended  with 
these  words :  "  Liberty  and  Union,  now  and  forever,  one 
and  inseparable."  The  speech  had  a  tremendous  effect,  and 
in  the  words  of  Senator  Lodge,  one  of  Webster's  biographers, 
it  "  marks  the  highest  point  attained  by  Mr.  Webster  as  a 
public  man." 

Webster  versus  Calhoun.  —  The  second  great  speech  re 
ferred  to  was  the  reply  three  years  later  to  Calhoun,  who 
had  taken  Hayne's  place  in  the  Senate.  In  this  Webster 
elaborated  the  doctrine  of  the  Constitution  laid  down  in  the 
Reply  to  Hayne.  Calhoun's  theory  was  that  "the  Constitu 
tion  is  a  compact  between  sovereign  states,"  and  that  any 
state  can  break  the  compact  whenever,  in  its  judgment, 
Congress  has  violated  the  Constitution.  Webster  denied 
these  propositions,  asserting  that  "  by  the  Constitution,  we 
mean  the  fundamental  law";  that  nullification,  the  South 
Carolina  doctrine,  is  revolution  and  anarchy ;  that  "  all 
power  is  with  the  people,"  not  the  states,  and  "  they  alone 
are  sovereign  " ;  and  finally,  that  by  "  the  first  great  prin 
ciple  of  all  republican  liberty  .  .  .  the  majority  must 
govern."  Of  Webster's  speech  G.  T.  Curtis  says :  "  Who 
ever  would  understand  that  theory  of  the  Constitution  of 
the  United  States  which  regards  it  as  the  enactment  of  3 


THE  "SEVENTH  OF  MARCH"  SPEECH        135 

fundamental  law  must  go  to  this  speech  to  find  the  best  and 
clearest  exposition."  Of  Webster's  method  of  debate  Cal- 
houn,  after  years  of  verbal  conflict  with  him,  said  that 
Webster  stated  an  opponent's  arguments  more  fairly  than 
anybody  he  had  ever  seen. 

The  "  Seventh  of  March  "  Speech.  —  Webster's  last  notable 
speech  in  the  Senate  was  in  1850  in  favor  of  Clay's  com 
promise,  which  both  hoped  would  give  a  basis  on  which  the 
North  and  the  South  could  remain  united.  This  effort, 
known  as  the  Seventh  of  March  Speech,  was  received  by 
many  in  the  North  as  an  act  almost  of  treason.  He  seemed 
to  give  his  sanction  to  slavery  ;  but  it  should  be  remembered 
that  he  had  never  advocated  abolition,  and  that  throughout 
his  public  career  the  preservation  of  the  Union  had  been 
his  controlling  motive.  Public  opinion  of  his  time  is  well 
represented  by  Whittier's  lament,  Ichabod  ;  and  the  change 
in  opinion  which  time  and  the  return  of  reason  brought, 
in  the  same  poet's  The  Lost  Occasion,  written  thirty  years 
afterwards. 

In  1850  Webster  left  the  Senate  to  become  for  the  second 
time  Secretary  of  State.  He  returned  to  his  home  in  Marsh- 
field,  Massachusetts,  in  September,  1852,  and  died  there  on 
October  24,  after  a  short  illness.  The  antagonism  aroused 
by  his  Seventh  of  March  Speech  did  not  long  continue ;  and 
most  Americans  now  will  probably  say  with  Professor  Rich 
ardson  that  the  maintenance  of  the  Union  "  was  due  to  the 
long,  patient  work  of  Daniel  Webster  more  than  to  that  of 
any  other  American  statesman."  Surely  this  is  no  small 
accomplishment  for  the  lifetime  of  even  "  a  parliamentary 
Hercules,"  as  Thomas  Carlyle  called  him. 


136 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


If 


ABRAHAM   LINCOLN,    1809-1865 

Although  no  account  of  Lincoln's  life  is  really  needed 
here,  we  think  it  will  be  of  interest  to  quote  entire  his  auto 
biographical  sketch,  written  in  1859,  since  it  is  little  known, 
and  gives  an  excellent  insight  into  his  character  and  his  lit 
erary  style. 

Autobiography.  — "I  was  born  February  12, 1809,  in  Hardin 
County,  Kentucky.  My  parents  were  both  born  in  Virginia, 

of  undistinguished 
families  —  second  fam 
ilies,  perhaps  I  should 
say.  My  mother,  who 
died  in  my  tenth  year, 
was  of  a  family  of  the 
name  of  Hanks,  some 
of  whom  now  reside 
in  Adams,  and  others 
in  Macon  County, 
Illinois.  My  paternal 

grandfather,  Abraham  Lincoln,  emigrated  from  Eockingham 
County,  Virginia,  to  Kentucky  about  1781  or  1782,  where  a 
year  or  two  later  he  was  killed  by  the  Indians,  not  in  battle, 
but  by  stealth,  when  he  was  laboring  to  open  a  farm  in  the 
forest.  His  ancestors,  who  were  Quakers,  went  to  Virginia 
from  Berks  County,  Pennsylvania.  An  effort  to  identify 
them  with  the  New  England  family  of  the  same  name 
ended  in  nothing  more  definite  than  a  similarity  of  Chris 
tian  names  in  both  families,  such  as  Enoch,  Levi,  Mordecai, 
Solomon,  Abraham,  and  the  like. 

"  My  father,  at  the  death  of  his  father,  was  but  six  years 
of  age,  and  he  grew  up  literally  without  education.  He 
removed  from  Kentucky  to  what  is  now  Spencer  County, 
Indiana,  in  my  eighth  year.  We  reached  our  new  home 


EARLY  HOME  OF  LINCOLN  IN  KENTUCKY. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  137 

about  the  same  time  the  State  came  into  the  Union.  It  was 
a  wild  region,  with  many  bears  and  other  wild  animals  still 
in  the  woods.  There  I  grew  up.  There  were  some  schools, 
so  called,  but  no  qualification  was  ever  required  of  a  teacher 
beyond  '  readin',  writin',  and  cipherin' '  to  the  rule  of  three. 
If  a  straggler  supposed  to  understand  Latin  happened  to 
sojourn  in  the  neighborhood  he  was  looked  upon  as  a  wizard. 
There  was  absolutely  nothing  to  excite  ambition  for  educa 
tion.  Of  course,  when  I  came  of  age  I  did  not  know  much. 
Still,  somehow,  I  could  read,  write,  and  cipher  to  the  rule  of 
three,  but  that  was  all.  I  have  not  been  to  school  since.  The 
little  advance  I  now  have  upon  this  store  of  education  I  have 
picked  up  from  time  to  time  under  the  pressure  of  necessity. 
"  I  was  raised  to  farm  work,  which  I  continued  till  I 
was  twenty-two.  At  twenty -one  I  came  to  Illinois,  Macon 
County.  Then  I  got  to  New  Salem,  at  that  time  in  Sanga- 
mon,  now  in  Menard  County,  where  I  remained  a  year  as  a 
sort  of  clerk  in  a  store.  Then  came  the  Black  Hawk  War, 
and  I  was  elected  a  captain  of  volunteers,  a  success  which 
gave  me  more  pleasure  than  any  I  have  had  since.  I  went 
the  campaign,  was  elected,  ran  for  the  legislature  the  same 
year  (1832),  and  was  beaten  —  the  only  time  I  ever  have 
been  beaten  by  the  people.  The  next  and  three  succeeding 
biennial  elections  I  was  elected  to  the  legislature.  I  was 
not  a  candidate  afterward.  During  this  legislative  period 
I  had  studied  law  and  removed  to  Springfield  to  practice  it. 
In  1846  I  was  once  elected  to  the  lower  house  of  Congress. 
Was  not  a  candidate  for  reelection.  From  1849  to  1854, 
both  inclusive,  practiced  law  more  assiduously  than  ever 
before.  Always  a  Whig  in  politics,  and  generally  on  the 
Whig  electoral  tickets,  making  active  canvasses.  I  was  los 
ing  interest  in  politics  when  the  repeal  of  the  Missouri  Com 
promise  aroused  me  again.  What  I  have  done  since  then  is 
pretty  well  known. 


138 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


"  If  any  personal  description  of  me  is  thought  desirable 
it  may  be  said  I  am,  in  height,  six  feet  four  inches,  nearly ; 

lean  in  flesh,  weighing 
on  an  average  one  hun- 
dred     and     eighty 
pounds ;      dark    com 
plexion,    with    coarse 
black    hair   and   gray 
eyes.    No  other  marks 
or  brands  recollected." 
Defeat    Brings    Vic 
tory.  —  Only    one    of 
the    things    done    by 
Lincoln     after     1854 
need    be     mentioned. 
In  1858  he  was  nomi 
nated  for  the  United 
States   Senate  by  the 
Republicans      of 
Illinois,   and  was   de 
feated     by     Senator 
Douglas  after  a  series 
of  joint  debates  and  a 
hard  campaign  which 
was  carried  into  every 
village   in    the    state. 
Lincoln  lost  the  Sen- 
atorship;  but  so  clear 
and   forcible  was   his 
exposition  of  the  prin 
ciples  underlying   the   contest  that  he  became  the  logical 
candidate  of  the  Republican  party  for  President  in  1860. 
His  success  against  the  divided  Democracy,  his  magnifi 
cent  performance  of  his  duty  as  Chief  Executive  in  the 


STATUE  OF  LINCOLN  BY  FRENCH. 


HIS  MASTERPIECES  139 

face  of  untold  difficulties,  and  his  tragic  and  untimely  death 
are  matters  of  everyday  knowledge  of  the  average  American 
schoolboy. 

General  Characteristics  of  His  Writings.  —  Lincoln's  position 
in  American  literature  is  truly  unique.  With  less  than  six 
months'  schooling,  and  with  nothing  in  the  way  of  cultured 
surroundings  to  make  up  the  deficiency,  he  was  amazed  to 
find  himself  followed  by  an  eastern  college  professor,  who 
took  notes  on  his  speeches  and  made  them  the  basis  of 
lectures  to  classes  in  English.  But  this  occurrence  is  not 
amazing  to  those  who  read  thoughtfully  the  letters  and 
addresses  which  constitute  his  "  literary  works."  Sincerity, 
fairness,  humor  and  pathos,  high  morality,  power  of  con 
densed  utterance  —  these  qualities  produced  a  style  which 
the  French  Academy  praised  and  commended  as  a  model 
for  princes.  He  could  not  —  or  would  not  —  indulge  in 
oratorical  flights  like  Webster,  nor  was  he  carried  away  by 
passion  as  were  abolitionists  like  Garrison.  But  he  had  the 
power  of  penetrating  to  the  very  heart  of  a  question  and 
presenting  its  life  in  language  which  not  only  might  but  must 
be  understood.  Edward  Everett,  who  delivered  the  oration 
of  the  day  at  Gettysburg,  wrote  to  Lincoln  regarding  the 
latter's  brief  address :  "  I  should  be  glad  if  I  could  flatter 
myself  that  I  came  as  near  to  the  central  idea  of  the  occasion 
in  two  hours  as  you  did  in  two  minutes." 

His  Masterpieces.  —  A  number  of  Lincoln's  utterances  are 
universally  accepted  as  classics —  The  Gettysburg  Address, 
the  two  Inaugurals,  the  Cooper  Institute  Address,  the  Letter 
to  Greeley,  the  Speech  in  Independence  Hall,  the  Last  Public 
Address.  Eat  this  is  far  from  an  exhaustive  list.  The  Let 
ter  to  Mrs.  Bixby,  a  Massachusetts  woman  who  had  lost  five 
sons  in  the  war,  in  a  hundred  and  thirty-one  words  gets  to 
"  the  central  idea  of  the  occasion"  as  tenderly  and  as  forcibly 
as  does  The  Gettysburg  Address.  His  correspondence  with 


140  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Military  Governor  Shepley,  of  Lousiana,  sets  forth  in  unmis 
takable  terms  his  opposition  to  the  proposed  "  carpet-bag " 
government  which,  instituted  after  his  death,  produced  the 
evils  of  Reconstruction,  and  the  long  delay  in  the  reconcilia 
tion  of  North  and  South. 

Throughout  the  debates  with  Douglas  in  1858,  Lincoln 
refused  to  be  led  astray  by  his  opponent's  ingeniously  worded 
questions  and  arguments ;  and  in  replying  to  them,  re 
peatedly  attacked  Douglas's  indifference  to  the  question 
whether  slavery  was  right  or  wrong.  Douglas  said  he 
didn't  care  whether  slavery  was  "  voted  up  or  down  "  in  the 
territories;  to  which  Lincoln  in  the  last  debate  replied: 
"  Any  man  can  say  that  who  does  not  see  anything  wrong 
in  slavery ;  but  no  man  can  logically  say  it  who  does  see  a 
wrong  in  it;  because  no  man  can  logically  say  he  don't1 
care  whether  a  wrong  is  voted  up  or  voted  down."  His 
sense  of  humor  doubtless  did  much  to  sustain  him  at  the 
most  trying  times ;  as,  for  example,  when  telling  Kentuck- 
ians  at  Cincinnati  (in  September,  1859)  what  the  Republican 
party  meant  to  do  with  them :  "  We  mean  to  marry  your 
girls  when  we  have  a  chance  —  the  white  ones,  I  mean,  and 
I  have  the  honor  to  inform  you  that  I  once  did  have  a 
chance  that  way." 

Lowell  on  Lincoln.  —  Lowell  has  well  summarized  in  a  few 
sentences  the  distinguishing  excellences  of  Lincoln's  writ 
ing.  "  He  forgets  himself  so  entirely  in  his  object  as  to  give 
his  /  the  sympathetic  and  persuasive  effect  of  We  with 
the  great  body  of  his  countrymen.  Homely,  dispassionate, 
showing  all  the  rough-edged  process  of  his  thought  as  it  goes 
along,  yet  arriving  at  his  conclusions  with  an  honest  kind  of 
everyday  logic,  he  is  so  eminently  our  representative  man, 

1  In  view  of  the  frequency  with  which  this  grammatical  error  is  heard 
to-day  from  supposedly  educated  persons,  it  is  perhaps  hardly  necessary  to 
apologize  for  Lincoln. 


JOHN  CALDWELL  CALHOUN 


141 


that,  when  he  speaks,  it  seems  as  if  the  people  were  listen 
ing  to  their  own  thinking  aloud.  The  dignity  of  his  thought 
owes  nothing  to  any  ceremonial  garb  of  words,  but  to  the 
manly  movement  that  comes  of  settled  purpose  and  an 
energy  of  reason  that  knows  not  what  rhetoric  means. 
.  .  .  He  has  always  addressed  the  intelligences  of  men, 
never  their  prejudice,  their  passion,  or  their  ignorance." 


JOHN   CALDWELL   CALHOUN,    1782-1850 

The  foremost  defender  of  slavery  and  state  rights  in  the 
halls  of  Congress,  and  the  ablest  opponent  of  Webster,  was 

John    C.    Calhoun,    of    t i 

South  Carolina.  He 
was  considered  by  the 
poet  Whittier  "  the 
most  powerful  intellect 
of  his  period."  His 
formal  education  was 
begun  late  —  at  the  age 
of  eighteen,  when  he 
was  tutored  by  a 
brother-in-law  in  prep 
aration  for  Yale.  Two 
years  later  he  entered 
the  Junior  class  in  that 
institution,  from  which 

he  was  graduated  with 

i  •  •    *  ™  .       -n  From  a  painting  at  Clemson  Agricultural 

honors  in  1804.     Four  College. 

years    later    he   was 

elected  to  the  South  Carolina  legislature,  and  served  one 

term. 

Becomes  a  National  Figure.  —  In  1811  Calhoun  entered  the 
arena  of  national  politics,  being  elected  to  the  House  of 


JOHN  C.  CALHOUN. 


142  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Representatives  when  the  clouds  of  the  second  war  with 
England  were  already  forming.  In  his  first  speech  in  Con 
gress  he  urged  preparation  for  war,  admitting  that  lack  of 
preparation  was  his  only  reason  for  not  advocating  war  at 
once.  After  three  terms  in  the  House,  Calhoun  became 
Secretary  of  War  in  Monroe's  cabinet,  retaining  the  position 
to  the  end  of  the  President's  second  term.  As  Secretary  he 
performed  a  notable  service  in  bringing  order  and  economy 
into  his  department,  and  in  greatly  increasing  the  efficiency 
of  the  Military  Academy  at  West  Point. 

Vice  President,  Senator,  Secretary  of  State.  —  From  1825  to 
1832  Calhoun  was  Vice  President.  In  November  of  the 
latter  year  he  resigned  in  order  to  become  Senator  from 
South  Carolina,  succeeding  Robert  Y.  Hayne.  For  eleven 
years  following  he  was  the  recognized  leader  of  the  party  of 
slavery  and  state  rights.  He  resigned  his  seat  in  the 
Senate  to  seek  the  Democratic  nomination  for  President ; 
and  failing  to  secure  this,  accepted  the  Secretaryship  of 
State  under  President  Tyler.  During  his  occupancy  of  this 
post,  which  lasted  only  a  little  more  than  a  year,  he  per 
formed  two  important  duties.  One  was  a  prominent  part  in 
the  negotiations  which  led  later  to  the  annexation  of  Texas ; 
the  other  in  the  settlement  of  the  dispute  with  Great  Britain 
over  Oregon.  In  1845  he  returned  to  the  Senate,  and  con 
tinued  a  member  of  that  body  till  his  death  five  years  later. 

Champion  of  State  Sovereignty.  —  John  C.  Calhoun  will 
not  be  remembered  for  his  connection  with  Texas,  Oregon, 
or  West  Point ;  he  will  be  remembered  as  the  unfaltering, 
uncompromising  advocate  of  state  sovereignty  and  its  natural 
sequels,  nullification  and  secession  —  doctrines  which  he  did 
not  originate,  but  which  he  analyzed  and  reduced  to  logical 
form.  The  theory  of  state  sovereignty  was  set  forth  by 
him  in  three  documents :  TJie  South  Carolina  Exposition,  an 
essay  published  in  1828;  Address  to  the  People  of  South 


CHAMPION  OF  STATE  SOVEREIGNTY        143 


Carolina,  1831 ;  and  a  letter  to  Governor  Hamilton,  of  South 
Carolina,  in  1832.  Of  the  last,  Calhoun's  biographer,  von 
Hoist,  says:  "This  letter  to  Governor  Hamilton  of  South 
Carolina  is  the  final  and  classical  exposition  of  the  theory  of 
state  sovereignty.  Nothing  new  has  ever  been  added  to  it." 


CALHOUN  MANSION. 
Now  one  of  the  Clemson  Agricultural  College  buildings. 

Six  months  later,  through  his  speech  in  the  Senate  already 
referred  to,  the  doctrine  was  laid  before  the  whole  country 
in  a  close,  logical  argument  on  this  text:  "The  people  of 
Carolina  believe  that  the  Union  is  a  union  of  States,  and  not 
of  individuals ;  that  it  was  formed  by  the  States,  and  that 
the  citizens  of  the  several  States  were  bound  to  it  through 
the  acts  of  their  several  States ;  that  each  State  ratified  the 


144  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Constitution  for  itself,  and  that  it  was  only  by  such  ratifica 
tion  of  a  State  that  any  obligation  was  imposed  upon  its 
citizens."  So  powerful  was  the  effect  of  the  speech  in  the 
Senate  that  the  opposition  immediately  sought  Webster  as 
the  only  man  capable  of  replying.  Not  once  in  the  seven 
teen  years  remaining  to  him  did  Calhoun  waver  in  his  posi 
tion;  and  his  last  speech,  March  4,  1850,  contained  these 
words :  "  I  have  exerted  myself  to  arrest  it  [i.e.,  the  agita 
tion  of  the  slavery  question],  with  the  intention  of  saving 
the  Union,  if  it  could  be  done ;  and  if  it  could  not,  to  save 
the  section  where  it  has  pleased  Providence  to  cast  my  lot, 
and  which  I  sincerely  believe  has  justice  and  the  Constitu 
tion  on  its  side." 

The  statement  in  the  last  clause  quoted  —  regarding  his 
belief  in  the  right  of  his  position —  finds  very  general  accept 
ance  to-day.  That  Calhoun  was  in  error  in  his  interpreta 
tion  of  the  Constitution  is  probably  the  opinion  of  the  majority 
of  Americans,  though  an  illustrious  minority  offers  strong 
grounds  for  a  different  view.  In  any  case  few  will  question 
the  integrity  of  his  motives,  or  deny  that  "  he  acted  under 
the  firm  conviction  of  an  imperious  duty  towards  the  South 
and  towards  the  Union."  Had  he  lived,  moreover,  to  see 
his  South  go  down  in  defeat,  he  would  have  approved  the 
sentiment  closing  Hayne's  Forgotten : 

"  Forgotten  !  Tho'  a  thousand  years  should  pass, 

Methinks  our  air  will  throb  with  memory's  thrills, 

A  conscious  grief  weigh  down  the  faltering  grass, 
A  pathos  shroud  the  hills, 

Waves  roll  lamenting,  autumn  sunsets  yearn 
For  the  old  time's  return  !  " 


TIMROD  AND  HAYNE 


145 


TIMROD   AND   HAYNE 

Two  Southern  Poets.  —  At  this  point  should  be  considered 
two  writers  of  the  South  who  gave  expression  in  verse  to 
sentiments  diametrically  opposed  to  those  of  Whittier  and 
Lowell.  Both  served  _ 

in  the  Confederate 
army ;  of  each  may 
be  said  what  Dr.  Mabie 
says  of  one :  "  He 
touched  the  two  themes 
which  lay  deepest  in 
his  heart,  love  of  na 
ture  and  love  of  the  per 
sonal  and  social  ideals 
of  the  Old  South,  with 
perfect  sincerity,  with 
deep  tenderness,  and 
with  lyric  sweetness." 
These  two  poets  are 
Henry  Timrod  and 
Paul  Hamilton  Hayne, 
lifelong  friends  and 
natives  of  Charleston, 

South  Carolina,  then  the  literary  center  of  the  South.  The 
intimate  association  of  these  men  through  life  and  the 
virtual  identity  of  their  poetic  creeds  make  it  desirable  to 
treat  them  together. 

Henry  Timrod  (1829-1867).  —  Timrod  was  of  German 
descent.  His  father  and  grandfather  had  been  distin 
guished  citizens,  and  his  father  had  been  known  as  a  poet. 
Henry  studied  for  a  time  at  the  University  of  Georgia,  but 
because  of  poverty  and  ill  health  was  unable  to  graduate. 
He  then  studied  law,  but  like  Byrant,  Irving,  and  other 


BUST  OF  TIMROD. 
From  the  monument  in  Charleston,  S.C. 


146 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


bom  men  of  letters,  found  it  distasteful,  and  soon  gave  his 
best  thought  and  strength  to  poetry,  supporting  himself  by 
private  tutoring.  He  contributed  to  the  Southern  Literary 
Messenger  and  other  magazines,  and  brought  out  a  volume 
of  poems  in  Boston  in  1860.  At  the  outbreak  of  the  Civil 
War  he  enlisted,  and  during  a  short  term  of  service  wrote 


CONFEDERATE  MONUMENT  IN  MAGNOLIA  CEMETERY,  CHARLESTON. 
The  scene  of  Timro^'s  finest  poem. 

Carolina,  TJie  Cotton  Boll,  and  other  stirring  war  songs. 
Compelled  by  the  failure  of  his  health  to  leave  the  ranks, 
he  became  correspondent  of  a  Charleston  paper,  and  in  1864 
became  editor  of  the  South  Carolinian,  published  in  Colum 
bia.  He  married  happily,  but  within  a  year  lost  everything 
with  the  fall  of  the  Confederacy.  When  asked  about  him 
self  by  his  friend  Hayne,  Timrod  wrote :  "  I  can  embody 


PAUL  HAMILTON  HAYNE 


147 


it  all  in  a  few  words  —  beggary,  starvation,  death,  bitter 
grief,  utter  want  of  hope."  The  disease  which  had  long 
racked  him  was  ag 
gravated  by  his  men 
tal  suffering,  and  he 
died  of  consumption 
on  October  6,  1867. 

Paul  Hamilton 
Hayne  (1830-1886).  — 
Hayne  was  born  less 
than  a  month  after 
Tim  rod.  Early  in 
life  he  lost  his  father, 
a  lieutenant  in  the 
navy,  and  was  reared 
by  his  uncle,  Governor 
Robert  Y.  Hayne, 
mentioned  above  as 
antagonist  of  Webster 
in  the  Senate.  As 
Governor  Hayne  was 
wealthy,  his  nephew 
enjoyed  the  best  social 
and  educational  ad 
vantages,  and  was 

graduated     from 


STONE  MARKING  GRAVES  OF  TIMROD  AND 

HIS  SON. 

In    Trinity    Church    Cemetery,    Columbia, 

Charleston  College  in  S'C'  ^^^^  ***<"" 
1852.  Then,  follow 
ing  others  of  like  genius,  he  studied  law  a  while,  but 
soon  yielded  to  the  call  of  the  Muse,  and  began  to  write 
for  various  periodicals,  putting  out  in  1855  his  first  col 
lection  of  poems,  and  two  other  volumes  before  the  open 
ing  of  the  war.  In  1852  he  had  married  a  French  surgeonrs 
daughter,  Miss  Mary  Michel,  who  was  "the  inspiration, 


148 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


the   stay,    the  joy   of   his   life."     During  the  war  he   was 
on   Governor   Pickens's    staff.      Weak    physically,   as   was 

Timrod,  Hayne  could 
accomplish  little  in  the 
field;  but,  also  like  his 
friend,  he  rendered 
good  service  to  the 
cause  by  his  songs  of 
encouragement.  After 
the  war  he  moved  to 
"Copse  Hill,"  not  far 
from  Augusta,  Georgia, 
where  in  "  a  crazy, 
wooden  shanty,  digni 
fied  as  a  cottage,"  he 
and  his  devoted  wife 
spent  the  last  twenty 
years  of  his  life.  He 
continued  to  write  in 
both  verse  and  prose, 
and  his  home  was  the 
Mecca  of  many  poets 
and  other  friends.  He 
died  July  6, 1886,  going 
to  his  reward  with  a 
calmness  that  reminds 


PAUL  HAMILTON  HAYNE. 
From  a  portrait  in  possession  of  the  poet's 
son,  William  H.  Hayne,  through  whose  kind 
ness  this  and  the  two  following  photographs 
are  reproduced  here. 


one  of  Emerson's  Terminus.     The  Concord  poet's  song  of 
resignation  finds  a  fit  companion  in  Hayne's  In  Harbor. 

"  I  know  it  is  over,  over, 

I  know  it  is  over  at  last ! 
Down  sail  !  the  sheathed  anchor  uncover, 
For  the  stress  of  the  voyage  has  passed  : 
Life,  like  a  tempest  of  ocean, 

Hath  outbreathed  its  ultimate  blast : 


POETS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


149 


There's  but  a  faint  sobbing  sea-ward, 
While  the  calm  of  the  tide  deepens  lee-ward  ; 
And  behold  !  like  a  welcoming  quiver 
Of  heart-pulses  throbbed  thro'  the  river, 

Those  lights  in  the  harbor  at  last, 

The  heavenly  harbor  at  last !  " 

Poets  of  the  Confederacy.  —  Lincoln  in  his  Second  Inaugural 
refers  to  the  belief  of  both  North  and  South  in  the  justice 


"  COPSE  HILL." 

Hayne's  home  after  the  war.     Here,    says    Margaret   J.    Preston,    he 
"fought  the  fight  of  life  with  uncomplaining  bravery,  and  persisted  in 
being  happy." 

of  their  cause.  "  Both  read  the  same  Bible,  and  pray  to  the 
same  God;  and  each  invokes  His  aid  against  the  other." 
The  men  of  South  Carolina  and  Virginia  and  Texas  felt 
that  when  their  states  left  the  Union,  true  patriotism 


150  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

called  them  to  go  with  their  states.  The  war  poems  of 
Timrod  and  Hayne  express  this  confidence  repeatedly. 

"  We  battle  for  our  Country's  right," 
writes  Timrod  in  A  Cry  to  Arms;  and  in  Ethnogenesis : 

"the  very  soil, 

And  all  the  generous  wealth  it  gives  to  toil, 
And  all  for  which  we  love  our  noble  land, 
Shall  fight  beside,  and  through  us." 

Hayne,  in  My  Mother-land,  celebrating  South  Carolina's 
leadership  in  secession,  says : 

"  our  South  erect  and  proud, 
Fronted  the  issue,  and  though  lulled  too  long, 
Felt  her  great  spirit  nerved,  her  patriot  valor  strong." 

They  shared  the  general  feeling  of  the  South  that  the 
struggle  was  on  its  part  a  fight  "  for  cherished  home  and 
land,"  as  Hayne  wrote  in  Scene  in  a  Country  Hospital;  and 
both  celebrated  in  vigorous  lines  the  part  played  by  Southern 
women.  Thus,  Timrod,  in  The  Two  Armies: 

"  No  breeze  of  battle  ever  fanned 
The  colors  of  that  tender  band ; 
Its  office  is  beside  the  bed, 
Where  throbs  some  sick  or  wounded  head. 


Nor  is  that  army's  gentle  might 
Unfelt  amid  the  deadly  fight ; 
It  nerves  the  son's,  the  husband's  hand, 
It  points  the  lover's  fearless  brand  ; 
It  thrills  the  languid,  warms  the  cold, 
Gives  even  new  courage  to  the  bold  ; 
And  sometimes  lifts  the  veriest  clod 
To  its  own  lofty  trust  in  God." 

The  war,  however,  left  no  trace  of  bitterness  in  these 
men.     In  Hayne's  Complete  Poems,  1882,  the  group  of  war 


POETS  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY 


151 


poems  is  prefaced  with  this  sentence:  "These  poems  are 
republished  with  no  ill-feeling,  nor  with  the  desire  to  revive 


HAYNE  SIDE  OF  THE  COLE  MONUMENT,  AUGUSTA,  GEORGIA. 

The  other  sides  are  memorials  to  three  other  Southern  poets  —  Father 
Abram  J.  Ryan,  Sidney  Lanier,  and  James  R.  Randall. 

old  issues ;  but  only  as  a  record  and  a  sacred  duty."     Our 
Martyrs  closes  with  these  words  : 

"  Oh,  Thou  !  that  hast  charms  of  healing, 

Descend  on  a  widowed  land, 
And  bind  o'er  the  wounds  of  feeling, 

The  balms  of  thy  mystic  hand  ; 
Till  the  lives  that  lament  and  languish, 

Renewed  by  a  touch  divine, 
From  the  depths  of  their  mortal  anguish, 

May  rise  to  the  calm  of  Thine.'1 

The  invocation  to  peace  at  the  close  of  Timrod's  Christmas 
is  in  the  same  tone  : 


152 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


"Let  every  sacred  fane 
Call  its  sad  votaries  to  the  throne  of  God, 
And,  with  the  cloister  and  the  tented  sod, 
Join  in  one  solemn  strain  ! 


Peace  on  the  whirring  marts, 
Peace  where  the  scholar  thinks,  the  hunter  roams, 
Peace,  God  of  Peace  !  peace,  peace,  in  all  our  homes, 

And  peace  in  all  our  hearts  !  " 


) 


f  RUSSELL'S  \ 

' 


CHARLESTON,S.C.  If 


FACSIMILE  OF  COVER  OF  Russell's 
Magazine. 

The  publication  of  the  Charleston  group. 

Hayne  was  editor-in-chief.       (New  York 

Public  Library.) 


Poets  of  Nature.  — 
Besides  being  remem 
bered  for  their  war 
poems,  Timrod  and 
Hayne  take  high  rank 
as  writers  of  nature 
lyrics,  in  which  the 
woodland  sights  and 
sounds  of  the  South 
receive  worthy  praise. 
Professor  Wendell  puts 
Timrod's  Cotton  Boll 
in  the  same  class  with 
Whittier's  poems  on 
New  England  land 
scapes  ;  and  Colonel 
Higginson  thinks 
Hayne  has  a  "softer, 
richer,  sweeter "  note 
than  Bryant.  It  has 
been  said  of  Timrod's 
work  in  this  field: 
"Passionately  fond  as 
he  was  of  Nature,  and 


nourished  and  refreshed  by  her  always,  he  never  wrote  a 


POETS  OF  NATURE  153 

line  of  merely  descriptive  poetry:  Nature  is  only  the 
symbol,  the  image,  to  interpret  his  spiritual  meaning." 
He  believes  as  strongly  as  does  Wordsworth  in  a  sort  of 
conscious  existence  in  natural  objects;  note,  for  example, 
the  opening  stanza  of  Flower-Life: 

"I  think  that,  next  to  your  sweet  eyes, 
And  pleasant  books,  and  starry  skies, 

I  love  the  world  of  flowers  ; 
Less  for  their  beauty  of  a  day, 
Than  for  the  tender  things  they  say, 
And  for  a  creed  I've  held  alway, 
That  they  are  sentient  powers." 

The  Cotton  Boll,  The  Lily  Confidante,  and  The  Rosebuds  are 
among  the  most  charming  of  Timrod's  poems  that  give  con 
crete  evidence  of  this  belief.  Hayne's  most  striking  poems 
of  nature  are  a  number  dealing  with  the  pines,  which  he 
sang  as  enthusiastically  as  Lanier  sang  the  marshes.  .While 
flowers  and  simple  things  appeal  to  him  at  times,  he  has 
a  constant  feeling  of  devotion  to  the  "majestic  pine,"  the 
"monarchal  pine,"  the  "sacred  tree,"  the  "foliaged  giants." 
Every  pine  has  for  him  a  Dryad,  an  indwelling  spirit,  which 
in  a  beautiful  sonnet,  The  Axe  and  the  Pine,  he  represents 
as  wailing  in  distress  when  the  tree  is  hewn  down.  In  The 
Dryad  of  the  Pine  he  shows  that  he  holds  a  creed  similar  to 
Timrod's  in  Flower-Life : 

"  Here  lingering  long,  amid  the  shadowy  gleams, 
Faintly  I  catch  (yet  scarce  as  one  that  dreams) 
Low  words  of  alien  music,  softly  sung, 
And  rhythmic  sighs  in  some  sweet  unknown  tongue. 

"  And  something  rare  I  cannot  clasp  or  see, 
Flits  vaguely  out  from  this"  mysterious  tree  — 
A  viewless  glory,  an  ethereal  grace, 
Which  make  Elysian  all  the  haunted  place  !  " 


154  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

The  poems  of  Timrod  and  Hayne  have  been  received  as 
enthusiastically  by  Northern  critics  as  by  Southern.  Even 
their  fieriest  lyrics  of  the  war  aroused  no  antagonisms,  and 
their  songs  of  Southern  flowers,  trees,  streams,  and  woods 
are  universally  admired.  Both  men  fall  short  of  the  genius 
of  Poe,  and  in  both  we  occasionally  catch  strains  that  seem 
to  have  been  influenced  by  Tennyson,  Keats,  and  Words 
worth.  But  they  were  genuine  poets,  with  a  high  conceptior 
of  the  poet's  mission  as  prophet  and  teacher ;  and  they  hold 
a  high  place  in  our  country's  verse  —  a  place  we  may  be 
sure  is  permanent,  and  tending  higher  every  day. 

HISTORY   WRITING   IN   AMERICA 

Early  American  Chroniclers.  —  Not  until  the  second  quarter 
of  the  nineteenth  century  was  any  historical  work  produced 
in  America  which  has  much  merit  as  literature.  The  works 
of  Smith,  Strachey,  Bradford,  Winthrop,  and  Mather  have 
been  shown  to  possess  little  merit  beyond  record  of  con 
temporary  events.  Thomas  Hutchinson's  History  of  Massa 
chusetts,  Professor  Wendell  thinks  "  may  perhaps  be  called 
the  most  respectable  American  book  before  the  Revolution  "  ; 
but  even  Hutchinsori  was  not  a  man  of  letters.  Besides 
their  value  as  narratives  of  a  highly  important  period  in 
our  history,  these  books  also  deserve  to  be  remembered  as 
evidence  of  the  interest  in  great  movements  which  produced 
some  really  notable  historical  writers  in  the  period  now 
under  consideration. 

Four  Great  Historians.  —  The  four  men  who  may  be  called 
the  founders  of  historical  study  in  America  —  George  Ban 
croft,  William  Hickling  Prescott,  John  Lothrop  Motley, 
and  Francis  Parkman — were  all  natives  of  Massachusetts 
and  graduates  of  Harvard.  Bancroft  spent  half  a  century 
on  his  History  of  the  United  States;  Prescott  and  Parkin  an 


FOUR  GREAT  HISTORIANS 


155 


concerned  themselves  with  themes  drawn  from  North  Amer 
ica  but  not  coming  down  to  the  time  of  American  inde 
pendence  ;  while  Motley  produced  a  history  which  required 
residence  abroad  to  secure  material,  and  which  is  related  to 
American  life  only  through  the  spirit  behind  the  movement 
treated  in  its  pages.  The  breadth  of  view  indicated  by  this 


PARKMAN  MEMORIAL,  JAMAICA  PLAIN,  MASS. 

choice  of  subjects  is  another  sign  of  the  Romantic  influence 
already  referred  to  as  dominant  in  England  at  this  time. 
We  have  space  to  discuss  in  detail  only  one  of  the  historians, 
and  choose  Motley  as  being  on  the  whole  the  best  entitled 
to  a  position  in  literature,  though  many  would  make  that 
claim  for  Parkman. 


156  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


JOHN   LOTHROP   MOTLEY,    1814-1877 

Life.  —  Motley  was   born   in  Dorchester,  now  a  part  of 
Boston,  April  15,  1814.     He  prepared  for  college  at  Ban 
croft's  school  in  Northampton,  and   was   graduated   from 
Harvard  in  1831.     He  then  studied  two  years  in  Germany, 
where  he  became  an  intimate  friend  of  Bismarck.     Upon 
his  return  to  America  he  took  up  the  study  of  law,  and  be 
gan  to  practice  in  1837.     Four  years  later  he  was  for  a 
short  time   Secretary  of   Legation  in  St.  Petersburg,  and 
later  served  one  term  in  the  Massachusetts  legislature.     As 
Motley's  friends  had  not  been  impressed  with  any  enthusi 
asm  for  study  displayed  by  him,  they  were  rather  surprised 
when,  in  1851,  he  took  his  family  to  Europe  to  equip  him 
self  for  writing  a  history  of  Holland.     He  spent  five  years  in 
"  conscientious  research  "  in  Holland,  France,  and  Germany, 
the  result  of  which  was  three  of  the  greatest  histories  pro 
duced  by  America—  The  Rise  of  the  Dutch  Republic,  History 
of  the  United  Netherlands,  and  The  Life  and  Death  of  John 
ofBarneveld.     A  fourth  work,  planned  to  cover  the  Thirty 
Years'  War,  he  did  not  live  to  write.     From  1861  to  1865 
he  was  United  States  Minister  to  Austria,  and  for  part  of 
1869  and  1870,  to  England,  whence  he  was   recalled   for 
reasons  not  yet  considered  sufficient.     The  recall  and  the 
death  of  his  wife  are  together  believed  to  have  caused  his 
own  death.     This  took  place  in  England,  May  29, 1877,  and 
there  he  was  buried. 

Authorship. — Motley  began  his  literary  career  during  his 
law  period  with  two  novels,  which  were  failures.  Some 
what  more  successful  were  some  essays  published  between 
his  government  service  in  Russia  and  his  stay  in  Europe. 
But  he  had  become  interested  in  the  history  of  Holland,  and 
was  convinced  that  he  must  write  a  book  on  it,  even  if  it 
should  be  a  failure  like  his  novels.  The  attraction  of  the 


A  STRIKING  PORTRAIT 


157 


subject  seems  to  have  lain  in  his  patriotism,  in  a  feeling  ex 
pressed  in  the  preface  to  The  Rise  of  the  Dutch  Republic : 
"The  maintenance  of  the  right  by  the  little  provinces  of 
Holland  and  Zealand  in  the  sixteenth,  by  Holland  and  Eng 
land  united  in  the  seventeenth,  and  by  the  United  States  of 
America  in  the  eighteenth  centuries,  forms  but  a  single 
chapter  in  the  great  volume  of  human  fate  ;  for  the  so-called 
revolutions  of  Holland, 
England,  and  America 
are  all  links  of  one 
chain."  And  again: 
"The  Dutch  Republic 
originated  in  the  cou 
rageous  resistance  of 
historical  and  chartered 
liberty  to  foreign  des 
potism."  This  feeling 
prevents  Motley's  being 
altogether  impartial  — 
his  Spaniards  are  too 
black  and  his  Dutchmen 
are  too  white.  In  this 
spirit  he  paints  the 
Dutch  leader  as  the 
apostle  and  champion 
of  human  rights,  and 
the  King  of  Spain  as  the  uncompromising  and  bigoted 
persecutor  of  the  Dutch. 

A  Striking  Portrait.  —  William  of  Orange,  called  the  Silent, 
is  the  hero  of  The  Rise  of  the  Dutch  Republic.  From  the 
age  of  eleven,  when  William  succeeded  to  the  principality 
of  Orange  and  went  to  the  Queen  Regent's  Court  at  Brussels 
to  be  educated,  Motley  follows  his  career  with  a  wealth  of 
detail  to  the  end.  As  soldier  and  statesman,  his  person- 


STATUE  OF  WILLIAM  THE  SILENT,  IN 
THE  HAGUE,  HOLLAND. 

His  favorite  motto,  Saevis  tranquillus  in 

undis  ("  tranquil  among  fierce  waves  "),  is 

on  the  pedestal. 


158  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

ality  dominates  the  entire  three  volumes  of  Motley's  great 
work.  Perhaps  the  explanation  of  the  superiority  of  The 
Rise  to  the  other  parts  of  the  Dutch  history  lies  in  the  uni 
fying  effect  of  this  central  figure.  As  Motley  puts  it :  "  The 
history  of  the  rise  of  the  Netherland  Republic  has  been  at 
the  same  time  the  biography  of  William  the  Silent." 

William's,  however,  is  not  the  only  striking  portrait  in 
the  work.  Philip  of  Spain,  Cardinal  Granvelle  and  the  bloody 
Duke  of  Alva,  Philip's  henchmen ;  Margaret  of  Parma,  the 
"man-minded  offset"  of  Charles  the  Fifth,  appointed  by 
Philip  to  be  regent  of  the  Netherlands, — these  are  only  a 
few  of  the  life-size  portraits  with  which  Motley's  pages  are 
crowded.  The  writer  belongs  to  the  Carlyle  school  of  his 
torians,  believing  that  "  universal  history  is  at  bottom  the 
history  of  the  great  men  who  worked  here." 

THE   TRANSCENDENTAL   MOVEMENT 

An  Important  Meeting.  —  One  of  the  most  important  events 
for  literature  in  America  in  the  nineteenth  century  was  the 
formation  of  the  so-called  "Transcendental  Club."  It  grew 
out  of  a  meeting  of  four  young  Unitarian  clergymen 1  after 
the  bicentennial  celebration  at  Harvard  in  1836.  One  mem 
ber  said  they  called  themselves  "the  club  of  the  like-minded; 
I  suppose  because  no  two  of  us  thought  alike."  As  Cabot 
says,  however,  they  were  "  united  by  a  common  impatience 
of  routine  thinking."  Or  more  specifically,  according  to 
Colonel  Higginson,  the  young  preachers  were  displeased 
with  "  the  narrow  tendencies  of  thought  in  the  churches." 

The  inspiration  of  this  group  of  men  was  the  philosophy 
of  Kant,  Schelling,  Hegel,  and  other  leaders  of  thought 
in  Germany.  Part  of  it  came  directly  through  Edward 

1  "Mr.  Emerson,  George  Ripley,  and  myself,  with  one  other."  — REV. 
DR.  F.  H.  HEDGE,  quoted  by  Cabot,  Memoir  of  Emerson,  I,  244. 


THE  KEYNOTE  159 

Everett,  George  Ticknor,  and  some  others,  who  studied  in 
the  German  universities ;  but  a  much  larger  part  came  by 
way  of  the  writings  of  Carlyle  and  Coleridge.  This  philos 
ophy  taught,  said  Eipley,  that  there  is  "  an  order  of  truths 
which  transcends  the  sphere  of  the  external  senses  ;  .  .  . 
that  the  truth  of  religion  does  not  depend  on  tradition, 
nor  historical  facts,  but  has  an  unerring  witness  in  the  soul." 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  this  club,  which  never  had  a 
formal  organization,  began  with  religion.  Soon,  however, 
it  concerned  itself  with  society  and  literature  as  well ;  and 
within  a  few  years  developed  into  the  so-called  Transcen 
dental  Movement,  in  which  many  of  the  greatest  minds  in 
New  England  enlisted. 

The  Keynote  —  Individuality.  —  As  has  been  said  above,1  it 
was  merely  a  belated  manifestation  on  Puritan  ground  of 
English  Romanticism ;  and  the  chief  feature  of  both  move 
ments  was  the  encouragement  of  every  man  to  follow  the 
bent  of  his  own  genius.  This  belief  in  the  supreme  impor 
tance  of  the  individual  is  repeatedly  set  forth  by  the  most 
eminent  writer  in  the  movement,  Emerson.  "Few  and 
mean  as  my  gifts  may  be,"  he  writes  in  Self  Reliance,  "  I 
actually  am,  and  do  not  need  for  my  own  assurance  or  the 
assurance  of  my  fellows  any  secondary  testimony."  In 
Experience  he  asks  :  "  Shall  I  preclude  my  future,  by  taking 
a  high  seat,  and  kindly  adapting  my  conversation  to  the 
shape  of  heads  ?  "  and  answers  himself :  "  When  I  come  to 
that,  the  doctors  shall  buy  me  for  a  cent."  In  Spiritual  Laws 
the  same  belief  is  expressed  in  impersonal  and  universal 
form  :  "  Each  man  has  his  own  vocation.  The  talent  is  the 
call.  There  is  one  direction  in  which  all  space  is  open  to 
him.  He  has  faculties  silently  inviting  him  thither  to  end 
less  exertion." 

Men  who  came  together  on  such  a  platform  were  neces- 

i  Page  71. 


160 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


sarily  opposed  to  each  other  at  many  points.  Hence,  their 
most  remarkable  social  experiment,  Brook  Farm,  was  a  fail 
ure.  The  objects  of  this  institute  "  of  Agriculture  and  Edu 
cation  "  were  "  to  insure  a  more  natural  union  between  in 
tellectual  and  manual 
labor  than  now  exists  ; 
to  combine  the  thinker 
and  the  worker,  as  far 
as  possible,  in  the  same 
individual ;  to  guaran 
tee  the  highest  mental 
freedom,  by  providing 
all  with  labor  adapted 
to  their  tastes  and 
talents,  and  securing 
to  them  the  fruits  of 
their  industry ;  and  do 
away  with  the  neces 
sity  of  menial  services 
by  opening  the  bene 
fits  of  education  and 
the  profits  of  labor  to 
all ;  and  thus  to  pre- 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON.  pare  a  society  of  liberal, 

intelligent,  and  culti 
vated  persons,  whose 
relations  with  each 
other  would  permit  a 
more  wholesome  and  simple  life  than  can  be  led  amidst  the 
pressure  of  our  competitive  institutions.7'  Brook  Farm  lasted 
eight  years ;  and  when  the  land  was  sold  and  the  mortgages 
paid,  the  stockholders  received  almost  nothing  for  their 
investment. 

"  The  Dial."  —  With    Transcendentalism   from   the    lit- 


A  likeness  which  seems  to  speak  these 
lines  from  The  World-Soul: 

"  Spring  still  makes  spring  in  the  mind 
When  sixty  years  are  told." 


"THE  DIAL 


161 


erary  point  of  view  only  are  we  here  concerned.  It 
is  the  only  distinct  "  movement "  in  American  literature. 
The  organ  of  the  group  was  the  Dial,  a  quarterly  magazine 
which  was  begun  the  year  before  Brook  Farm  was  organ 
ized,  and  which  "expired  after  four  years  of  precarious 
life."  The  following  sentence  from  the  prospectus  of  the 
Dial  will  show  the  intimate  connection  of  the  literary  as 
pect  of  the  movement  with  the  social  and  religious  aspects : 

"The    pages    of    this     

journal  will  be  filled 
by  contributors  who 
possess  little  in  com 
mon  but  the  love  of  in 
dividual  freedom  and 
the  hope  of  social  prog 
ress  ;  who  are  united 
by  sympathy  of  spirit, 
not  by  agreement  in 
speculation;  whose 
faith  is  in  Divine  Prov 
idence,  rather  than  in 
human  prescription, 
whose  hearts  are  more 


THE  "ORCHARD"  HOUSE,  CONCORD. 

Home  for  many  years  of  Amos  Bronson 
Alcott,  one  of  the  leading  Brook  Farmers, 
in  the  future   than  in 

the  past,  and  who  trust  the  living  soul  more  than  the  dead 
letter."  Thus  the  emancipation  of  literature  is  seen  to  have 
been  one  of  the  chief  aims  of  these  innovators.  Margaret 
Fuller,  the  brilliant  woman  popularly  identified  with  Haw 
thorne's  Zenobia,1  edited  the  Dial  for  two  years,  and  Em 
erson  was  a  regular  contributor.  A.  B.  Alcott,  father  of 
Louisa  May  Alcott,  childhood's  favorite  writer,  contributed 
Orphic  Sayings,  of  which  Professor  Goddard  says  :  "  It  will 
surely  be  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  these,  more  than  all 

1  See  page  125. 


162  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

the  other  contributions  to  the  Dial  combined,  served  to 
bring  down  the  ridicule  of  the  community  without  discrim 
ination  on  its  pages." 

In  an  essay  on  Thoreau,  Lowell  remarks  that  besides  the 
comic  aspect,  which  he  sets  forth  at  considerable  length, 
Transcendentalism  had  "a  very  solid  and  serious  kernel, 
full  of  the  most  deadly  explosiveness."  This  aspect  of  it 
is  best  known  to  us  in  the  pages  of  Emerson,  philosopher, 
moralist,  and  poet;  and  Thoreau,  the  revealer  of  nature  and 
first  practitioner  of  the  simple  life.  We  are  now  to  study 
the  lives  and  works  of  these  two  as  the  expression  of  the 
best  that  this  unorganized  movement  gave  to  our  national 
life  and  letters. 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON,  1803-1882 

One  of  the  longest,  happiest,  and  most  even-tempered  of 
the  world's  literary  lives,  and  one  in  which  the  same  sort 
of  unity  appears  as  we  have  noted  in  Bryant's  life,  is  that 
of  the  great  New  England  philosopher  and  poet,  —  Emerson. 
Like  Bryant,  Hawthorne,  and  Longfellow,  he  came  of  a 
long  line  of  New  England  Puritans,  with  eight  generations 
of  preachers  behind  him,  and  twelve  other  preachers  and 
fifty  graduates  of  Harvard  in  the  family  connection. 

A  Bostonian.  —  Emerson  was  born  in  Boston,  May  25, 
1803 ;  he  died  in  Concord,  "  an  ideal  New  England  town," 
twenty  miles  distant,  April  27,  1882 ;  and  he  spent  nearly 
the  whole  of  the  intervening  seventy-nine  years  within  the 
limits  of  what  is  now  called  "  Greater  Boston."  His  edu 
cation  was  carried  on  in  the  grammar  schools  and  the  famous 
Latin  School  of  his  native  city,  continued,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  in  Harvard,  from,  which  he  was  graduated  in  1821. 
Many  of  Emerson's  school  and  college  friends  who  became 
famous  have  been  forced,  on  being  pressed  for  reminiscences 


CAREER  IN  THE  MINISTRY 


163 


of  their  more  famous  associate,  reluctantly  to  admit  that  he 
did  not  especially  distinguish  himself,  that  he  made  friends 
slowly,  and  that  he  attracted  little  attention  from  teachers 
or  students.  At  his  graduation  from  Harvard,  however,  he 
took  second  prize  in  English  composition,  and  was  chosen 


EMERSON'S  HOME  AT  CONCORD. 

class  poet ;  but  the  honor  of  this  appointment  is  somewhat 
lessened  by  the  fact  that  seven  others  had  declined  it. 

Career  in  the  Ministry.  —  During  the  years  immediately 
following,  Emerson  was  occupied  with  teaching  and  with 
the  study  of  theology,  until,  in  March,  1829,  he  was  ordained 
assistant  pastor  of  the  Second  Church,  Boston,  of  which,  on 
the  resignation  of  the  pastor,  Emerson  assumed  sole  charge. 
Some  months  later  he  married  the  daughter  of  a  Boston 
merchant,  Miss  Ellen  Tucker,  an  invalid  who  died  in  less 


164  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

than  three  years.  Finding  some  of  the  duties  of  his 
ministerial  position  distasteful,  and  feeling  a  want  of  sym 
pathy  with  the  ordinance  of  the  Lord's  Supper,  he  set  forth 
his  views  in  a  sermon  in  September,  1832,  and  resigned  the 
pastorate.  Though  Emerson  was  a  preacher  to  the  end  of 
his  days,  it  will  be  seen  that  his  tenure  of  a  church  pulpit 
was  limited  to  a  little  over  three  years. 

Friendship  with  Carlyle.  —  In  1833  Emerson  made  his  first 
trip  to  Europe,  of  which  the  most  notable  experiences 
were  his  preaching  in  Edinburgh,  and  his  meeting  with 
Thomas  Carlyle.  Upon  returning  to  America  he  took  up 
his  residence  in  the  "  Old  Manse  "  of  Concord,  a  house  built 
for  Emerson's  grandfather,  and  occupied  at  the  time  by  Dr. 
Ezra  Ripley,  a  connection  of  the  family.  During  the  win 
ter  of  1833-1834,  having  determined  on  a  platform  career, 
he  began  lecturing ;  but  a  far  more  important  event  of  the 
year  was  a  letter  to  Carlyle,  May  14,  1834.  Then  was 
begun  one  of  the  most  remarkable  correspondences  of  the 
world,  which  lasted  thirty-eight  years.  In  temperament 
and  attitude  toward  life,  the  two  philosophers  were  directly 
opposed ;  but  each  had  an  admiration  and  a  strong  sympathy 
for  the  other,  and  the  friendship  lasted  till  death.  Emerson 
rendered  a  real  service  to  Carlyle  in  introducing  his  works 
to  American  readers,  beginning  in  1836  with  a  preface  to 
Sartor  Resartus,  which  was  published  in  this  country  before 
appearing  as  an  independent  work  in  England.  (It  had 
been  printed  in  an  English  magazine  the  preceding  year.) 
Emerson  married  in  September,  1835,  Miss  Lydia  Jackson, 
whom  he  described  to  Carlyle  as  "  an  incarnation  of  Chris 
tianity." 

First  Writings.  —  The  year  1836  marks  the  entrance  of 
Emerson  into  literature  —  as  poet,  with  the  Concord  Hymn, 
and  as  philosopher-essayist,  with  Nature,  "a  reflective  prose- 
poem."  Two  lines  of  the  former  are  familiar  to  all : 


MINUTE-MAN  MONUMENT  AT  CONCORD. 


166  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

"  Here  once  the  embattled  farmers  stood, 

And  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world." 

According  to  Garnett,  Nature  is  "the  most  intense  and 
quintessential"  of  Emerson's  writings.  In  this  he  proposes 
to.  behold  "  God  and  nature  face  to  face,"  as  did  "  the  fore 
going  generations";  to  "interrogate  the  great  apparition 
that  shines  so  peacefully  around  us  " ;  to  "  inquire,  to  what 
end  is  nature  ?  "  He  then  enumerates  the  uses  of  nature. 
That  this  little  book  did  not  meet  with  an  enthusiastic  re 
ception  is  indicated  by  the  fact  that  twelve  years  were  re 
quired  to  sell  five  hundred  copies.  Over  against  this  may 
be  noted  that  twenty-four  years  later  only  two  days  were 
required  to  sell  the  entire  first  edition  —  twenty-five  hundred 
copies  —  of  Conduct  of  Life,  evidence  of  the  advance  in 
popularity  made  by  his  ideas. 

"  The  American  Scholar."  —  It  will  be  remembered  that  1836 
is  the  year  in  which  the  Transcendental  Club  was  formed. 
Nature  was  worthy  to  be  the  first  forcible  expression  of  the 
movement,  which  was  further  defined  the  year  following  in 
The  American  Scholar,  an  oration  delivered  by  Emerson 
before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  of  Harvard.  In  this, 
which  Holmes  calls  "  our  intellectual  Declaration  of  Inde 
pendence,"  Emerson  says  :  "  Our  long  apprenticeship  to  the 
learning  of  other  lands  draws  to  a  close.  .  .  .  We  will  walk 
on  our  own  feet;  we  will  work  with  our  own  hands ;  we  will 
speak  our  own  minds.  ...  A  nation  of  men  will  for  the 
first  time  exist,  because  each  believes  himself  to  be  inspired 
by  the  Divine  Soul  which  also  inspires  all  men."  Here  is 
found  the  declaration  not  only  of  the  nation's  intellectual 
independence,  but  also  of  the  independence  of  every  man, 
which  last  has  been  given  as  the  keynote  of  the  Transcen 
dental  movement.  Quoting  again  from  the  oration,  to 
bring  out  more  clearly  its  emphatic  stand  for  individual 
ism  :  "  Everything  that  tends  to  insulate  the  individual,  — 


"ESSAYS,  FIRST  SERIES"  167 

to  surround  him  with  barriers  of  natural  respect,  so  that 
each  man  shall  feel  the  world  is  his,  and  man  shall  treat 
with  man  as  a  sovereign  state  with  a  sovereign  state,  —  tends 
to  true  union  as  well  as  greatness." 

Though  such  radical  ideas  did  in  time  gain  general 
acceptance,  the  process  was  slow;  and  for  the  ten  years 
following  Nature  and  The  American  Scholar,  more  hearers, 
probably,  were  shocked  by  Emerson  than  were  stirred  to 
enthusiasm  by  him.  Nothing,  however,  could  turn  him  from 
the  path  he  had  chosen,  and  his  manner  at  a  certain  anti- 
slavery  meeting  is  typical  of  his  way  of  receiving  criticisms 
and  thrusts  of  all  kinds.  At  this  meeting  he  was  vigorously 
hissed  for  some  sentiment  displeasing  to  the  audience ;  but 
Emerson,  we  are  told,  "  was  as  serene  as  moonlight  itself  — 
one  could  think  of  nothing  but  dogs  baying  the  moon." 

"Essays,  First  Series."  — Nature  was  incomprehensible  to 
most  readers  —  their  attitude  toward  it  would  have  made 
them  thoroughly  sympathetic  with  Lowell's  satire  on 
Transcendentalism ;  and  the  darkness  was  not  altogether 
dispelled  by  Emerson's  Essays,  First  Series,  in  1841.  This 
collection,  it  is  true,  contained  the  admirably  clear  Compen 
sation  and  Self-Reliance  ;  but  it  contained  also  The  Over-Soul, 
in  which,  says  Holmes,  he  "attempted  the  impossible,"  be 
cause  in  talking  "  of  the  infinite  in  terms  borrowed  from  the 
finite"  his  words  become  "not  symbols,  .  .  .  but  the 
shadows  of  symbols."  A  single  passage  will  illustrate  the 
difficulty  of  understanding  this  essay.  "  If  a  man  have  not 
found  his  home  in  God,  his  manners,  his  forms  of  speech, 
the  turn  of  his  sentences,  the  build,  shall  I  say,  of  all  his 
opinions,  will  involuntarily  confess  it.  let  him  brave  it  out 
how  he  will.  If  he  have  found  his  centre,  the  Deity  will 
shine  through  him,  through  all  the  disguises  of  ignorance,  of 
ungenial  temperament,  of  unfavorable  circumstance.  The 
tone  of  seeking  is  one,  and  the  tone  of  having  is  another." 


168  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Other  Works.  —  After  an  interval  of  three  years  (1844) 
came  the  Essays,  Second  Series,  and  after  an  interval  of  two 
years  more  (1846)  the  first  collection  of  poems.  Emerson's 
other  writings  may  be  listed  here  without  comment: 
Representative  Men,  1850,  lectures  delivered  in  England, 
which  it  is  interesting  to  compare  with  Carlyle's  Heroes  and 
Hero-Worship  ;  English  Traits,  1856,  which,  though  by  no 
means  over-laudatory,  is  nevertheless  much  admired  by  the 
English;  The  Conduct  of  Life,  1860;  May-Day  and  Other 
Pieces,  his  second  collection  of  poems,  1867;  Society  and 
Solitude,  1870;  and  Letters  and  Social  Aims,  1876.  Very 
little  is  gained  by  reading  Emerson's  works  in  chronological 
order,  since  for  every  lecture  or  essay  except  English  Traits 
he  drew  freely  arid  almost  at  random  from  his  journal,  or 
"Thought  Book,"  with  the  result  that  consecutive  sentences 
in  a  published  work  are  often  the  jottings  of  ten  and  twenty 
years  previous.  A  step  further  in  this  style  of  writing  is 
shown  in  the  essay  Self-Reliance,  which  contains  material 
used  in  four  lectures  of  preceding  years  —  Individualism, 
School,  Genius,  and  Duty. 

Travels,  and  Honors.  —  Emerson  made  a  second  trip  to 
England  in  1847,  renewing  the  pleasant  acquaintances  of 
his  first  visit,  making  many  new  ones,  especially  with  lit 
erary  men,  and  delivering  the  series  of  lectures  referred  to 
above.  During  the  fifties  he  connected  himself  with  the  anti- 
slavery  movement,  but  was  not  an  abolitionist ;  advocating, 
as  did  Lincoln,  the  buying  of  the  slaves  by  the  government.1 
In  1872,  accompanied  by  his  daughter,  he  went  abroad  for 
the  third  and  last  time,  traveling  as  far  as  Egypt.  A  few 


1  It  is  not  generally  known  that  as  late  as  February,  1805,  Lincoln 
wished  Congress  to  tender  $400,000,000  to  the  seceded  states  as  reimburse 
ment  for  their  slaves,  provided  they  would  lay  down  arms.  A  message 
recommending  this  action  was  drafted  by  Lincoln,  but  was  not  sent  to 
Congress  because  "  unanimously  disapproved  "  by  the  cabinet. 


MENTAL  BREAKDOWN,  AND  DEATH         169 

months  earlier  he  had  suffered  the  loss  of  his  home  by  fire, 
and  a  number  of  friends  made  him  a  gift  of  $12,000  to  re 
imburse  him,  which  he  was  with  difficulty  persuaded  to 
accept.  During  his  absence  they  supervised  the  rebuilding 
of  the  house  in  its  original  form ;  and  not  the  least  delight 
ful  feature  to  him  of  the  elaborate  reception  on  his  home 
coming  was  the  discovery  of  the  restored  mansion,  with 
every  book  in  its  accustomed  place. 

In  1874  he  was  nominated  for  Lord  Rector  of  the  Univer 
sity  of  Glasgow,  and  received  five  hundred  votes  to  the 
winner's  seven  hundred.  This  vote  he  counted  "  as  quite  the 
fairest  laurel  that  has  ever  fallen  on  me."  Two  addresses 
of  his  last  years  should  be  mentioned  —  one  at  the  unveiling 
of  "  The  Minute-Man  "  at  Concord  Bridge,  April  19,  1875 ; 
and  one  at  the  University  of  Virginia  in  1876.  Though 
Emerson  was,  as  we  have  said,  not  an  abolitionist,  he  was  a 
stanch  antislavery  man ;  and  when  the  war  came,  he  gave 
voice  to  strong  feeling  on  the  subject,  which  became  actually 
anti-Southern.  Hence  when  the  invitation  came  to  address 
the  literary  societies  of  the  Southern  institution,  he  was 
greatly  pleased  and  felt  that  he  must  accept  as  an  aid  in  the 
wiping  out  of  sectional  feeling. 

Mental  Breakdown,  and  Death.  —  Before  the  fire  of  1872 
signs  of  a  mental  breakdown  in  Emerson  had  appeared,  the 
most  manifest  of  which  was  loss  of  memory.  His  failure 
was  gentle  and  gradual,  and  he  was  continually  and  lovingly 
watched  by  friends  and  kin  who  wanted  to  spare  him  any 
possible  mortification.  This  was,  however,  unnecessary, 
since,  conscious  of  his  weakness,  he  more  and  more  with 
drew  himself  from  society,  and,  furthermore,  did  riot  hesitate 
to  jest  about  his  "naughty  memory."  A  most  singular 
instance  occurred  at  Longfellow's  funeral,  when,  after  gazing 
intently  on  his  friend's  face,  Emerson  remarked  to  some  one 
near  him  :  "  That  gentleman  was  a  sweet,  beautiful  soul,  but 


170 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


I  have  entirely  forgotten  his  name."  This  failure  of  his 
powers  had  not  been  a  cause  of  grief  to  him,  and  even  his 
last  months  were  placid  and  happy  in  the  midst  of  his  loved 
ones.  A  little  over  a  month  later  Emerson  himself  passed 
away,  as  was  proper,  he  had  remarked  to  a  friend,  "  when 
one's  wits  begin  to  fail." 


EMERSON'S  GRAVE,  IN  SLEEPY  HOLLOW  CEMETERY,  CONCORD. 

Hawthorne  and  Thoreau  are  buried  near  by.     (Photograph  copyright  by 
Detroit  Publishing  Company.) 

Chief  Weakness  in  Emerson's  Work.  —  As  the  starting 
point  for  our  estimate  of  Emerson,  we  may  well  take  the 
turning-point  in  Matthew  Arnold's  famous  essay.  "  We 
have  not  in  Emerson,"  says  Arnold,  trying  him  by  the  high 
est,  the  world's  standards,  "  a  great  poet,  a  great  writer,  a 
great  philosophy-maker.  His  relation  to  us  is  not  that  of 


CHIEF  VIRTUE  IN  EMERSON'S  WORK       171 

one  of  these  personages ;  yet  it  is  a  relation  of,  I  think,  even 
superior  importance.  ...  He  is  the  friend  and  aider  of 
those  who  would  live  in  the  spirit."  The  ground  upon  which 
Arnold  denies  Emerson  a  high  place  as  poet,  man  of  letters, 
or  philosopher  is,  that  Emerson  has  no  sense  of,  or  no  care 
for,  structure  —  a  fact  easily  recognized  by  the  student,  and 
not  surprising  in  view  of  his  method  of  composition,  referred 
to  above.  Carlyle  saw  this  defect,  not  only  in  whole  essays, 
but  in  paragraphs.  "  The  sentences  are  very  brief,"  he  wrote 
to  Emerson,  "  and  did  not  ...  sometimes  rightly  stick  to 
their  foregoers  and  their  followers ;  the  paragraph  not  as  a 
beaten  ingot,  but  as  a  beautiful  square  bag  of  duck-shot  held 
together  by  canvas ! "  And  Emerson  himself  appreciated 
it,  replying  thus  to  Carlyle  in  explanation  of  his  writing  at 
all :  "  I  am  only  a  sort  of  lieutenant  here  in  a  deplorable 
absence  of  captains,  and  write  the  laws  ill  as  thinking  it  a 
better  homage  than  universal  silence." 

Chief  Virtue  in  Emerson's  Work.  —  Both  this  lack  of 
structure,  and  the  inspirational  force  alluded  to  by  Arnold 
in  calling  Emerson  "the  friend  and  aider  of  those  who 
would  live  in  the  spirit,"  are  easily  perceived  if  we  stop  a 
moment  and  question  ourselves  regarding  our  knowledge  of 
the  essays.  What  do  we  recall  from  Self- Reliance  ? 
"  Trust  thyself :  every  heart  vibrates  to  that  iron  string." 
"A  foolish  consistency  is  the  hobgoblin  of  little  minds." 
What  from  Character  9  "  Truth  is  the  summit  of  being : 
justice  is  the  application  of  it  to  affairs."  "  We  have  seen 
many  counterfeits,  but  we  are  born  believers  in  great  men." 
What  from  Politics  ?  "  Ordinarily,  our  parties  are  parties 
of  circumstance,  and  not  of  principle."  "  Of  all  debts, 
men  are  least  willing  to  pay  the  taxes.  What  a  satire  is 
this  on  government !  Everywhere  they  think  they  get 
their  money's  worth,  except  for  these."  A  formal  outline 
of  any  one  of  the  essays  is  difficult ;  but  their  value  as 


172  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

mental    and    spiritual   tonic   is,  for   most   readers,  beyond 
question. 

If  Emerson  could  not  build  an  essay  or  even  a  paragraph, 
it  is  idle  to  expect  a  philosophical  system  from  him ;  yet 
the  goal  of  all  his  teaching  is  unmistakable.  The  student 
might  almost  express  it  for  himself  on  the  basis  of  our  quo 
tations  in  the  sketch  of  Transcendentalism.  "  Individual- 


FACSIMILE  OF  EMERSON'S  MANUSCRIPT. 
(Library  of  Congress) 

istic  idealism,"  it  has  been  called ;  but  by  whatever  name 
we  call  it,  it  is  the  same  guiding  star  as  that  which  led  the 
English  Romanticists —  Wordsworth,  Keats,  Lamb,  and  the 
rest  —  and  the  greatest  intellectually  of  the  Victorian 
writers  —  Arnold,  Thackeray,  George  Meredith,  Browning. 
Emerson's  Philosophy.  —  The  main  ideas  in  Emerson's 
philosophy  may  be  found  in  almost  every  one  of  his 
essays ;  in  none  are  they  more  clearly  or  more  vigorously 
set  forth  than  in  Self-Reliance.  What  is  genius  ?  "  To  be- 


EMERSON'S  POETRY:    DEFECTS  173 

lieve  your  own  thought,  to  believe  that  what  is  true  for  you 
in  your  own  private  heart  is  true  for  all  men  —  that  is 
genius."  Believing  thus,  how  shall  one  act?  "If  you 
would  be  a  man,  speak  what  you  think  to-day  in  words  as 
hard  as  cannon-balls,  and  to-morrow  speak  what  to-morrow 
thinks  in  hard  words  again,  though  it  contradict  everything 
you  said  to-day."  When  as  a  result  you  are  charged  with 
inconsistency,  remember :  "  With  consistency  a  great  soul 
has  simply  nothing  to  do."  And  find  additional  strength  in 
the  knowledge  that  "the  highest  truth  remains  unsaid, 
probably  cannot  be  said ;  for  all  that  we  say  is  the  far-off 
remembering  of  the  intuition."  Do  not  be  misled  into 
gambling  with  Fortune ;  external  events  may  lead  you  to 
"think  good  days  are  preparing  for  you,"  but:  "Do  not 
believe  it.  It  can  never  be  so.  Nothing  can  bring  you 
peace  but  yourself." 

Though  beginning  in  self  and  ending  in  self,  Emerson's  is 
not  a  se\f-ish  philosophy,  but  a  self-reliant,  self-dependent, 
self-confident  one,  based  on  the  belief  that  within  the  mind 
are  certain  intuitions  "  conceived  of  as  '  above '  experience 
and  independent  of  it."  This  brief  statement  of  Emerson's 
main  ideas  must  be  received  as  merely  suggestive;  for  as 
Professor  Wendell  well  says  :  "  Emerson's  work  is  so  in 
dividual  that  you  can  probably  get  no  true  impression  of  it 
without  reading  deeply  for  yourself." 

Emerson's  Poetry  :  Defects.  —  In  view  of  the  great  differ 
ence  in  opinion  as  to  what  constitutes  a  poet  and  poetry,  it 
is  unwise  to  speak  confidently  of  verse  so  individual  as 
Emerson's.  Much,  if  not  most,  of  it  lacks  the  qualities  es 
sential  to  great  lyric  poetry,  in  which  class  it  must  be  put. 
It  is,  in  the  first  place,  not  musical,  in  the  ordinary  sense. 
There  are  numerous  false  rhymes,  such  as  "flower  —  bore," 
"glowed  —  proud,"  "  solitudes  —  woods,"  " feeble  —  people," 
"  bear  —  woodpecker."  There  are  frequent  needless  inver- 


174 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


sions,  as  in  the  opening  lines  of  T/ie  Snow-Storm,  and  in  the 
first  of  these  lines  from  Threnody  : 

"  Step  the  meek  fowls  where  erst  they  ranged 
The  wintry  garden  lies  unchanged." 

Besides  the  lack  of  music,  there  is  a  lack  of  emotion  in 
Emerson's  verse  —  it  comes  from  the  intellect,  not  the  heart, 


EMERSON'S  LIBRARY. 

and  it  appeals  to  the  intellect  only.  Even  the  Concord 
Hymn,  Emerson's  most  nearly  perfect  poem,  does  not  move 
all.  A  third  point  to  be  made  against  Emerson's  poetry  is 
its  frequent  obscurity,  though  Poe's  supposition  that  this 
was  intentional,  is  nothing  short  of  absurd.  Brahma  and 
The  Sphinx  will  doubtless  continue  puzzles  to  most  readers, 
even  with  Emerson's  explanation  of  them. 


EMERSON'S  POETY:    MERITS  175 

Emerson's  Poetry :  Merits.  —  We  are  inclined  to  say  that 
the  chief  merit  of  Emerson's  poetry  is  the  same  as  the  chief 
merit  of  his  essays  as  expressed  by  Arnold :  the  poet,  like 
the  prose  writer,  is  "  the  friend  and  aider  of  those  who  would 
live  in  the  spirit."  Both  his  prose  and  his  verse  lend  them 
selves  admirably  to  quotation,  and  Emerson  is  probably  as 
well  known  in  single  passages  as  is  any  American  poet. 

"  All  are  needed  by  each  one ; 
Nothing  is  fair  or  good  alone. ' ' 

—  Each  and  All. 

"  When  Duty  whispers  low,  Thou  must, 
The  youth  replies,  lean." 

—  Voluntaries. 

"  if  eyes  were  made  for  seeing, 
Then  Beauty  is  its  own  excuse  for  being." 

—  The  Ehodora. 

"  Spring  still  makes  spring  in  the  mind 

When  sixty  years  are  told  ; 
Love  wakes  anew  this  throbbing  heart, 
And  we  are  never  old." 

-  The  World- Soul. 

"  Nature  ever  faithful  is 
To  such  as  trust  her  faithfulness." 

—  Woodnotes. 
The  list  might  be  easily  extended. 

The  last  quotation  above  brings  us  to  mention  of  Emer 
son's  nature  poetry,  a  field  in  which  he  ranks  with  Bryant 
and  the  two  Southern  poets  we  have  considered  —  Timrod 
and  Hayne.  The  range  of  Emerson's  observation  of  nature 
is  wider  than  that  of  the  others  mentioned,  and  he  succeeds 
in  keeping  his  eye  more  steadily  on  the  object  —  in  de 
scribing  the  object  as  it  is,  without  being  turned  aside  to 
enforce  moral  lessons  or  bring  in  collateral  matters.  The 
Titmouse  and  The  Snowstorm,  The  Humble- Bee  and  the 
mountain  Monadnoc,  the  rivulet  MusJcetaquid  and  TJie  Sea- 


176  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

shore,  indicate  his  interest  in  the  whole  compass  of  nature's 
operations,  and  the  poems  are  faithful  portrayals  of  the 
beauty  he  saw  in  all  external  objects. 

Emerson  the  Man.  —  The  most  delightful  impression  one 
gets  from  Emerson  is,  however,  that  of  the  man  himself, 
who  stands  out  behind  and  above  all  his  writing.  "  It's  a 
very  striking  and  curious  spectacle,"  wrote  Carlyle  in  1872, 
"  to  behold  a  man  in  these  days  so  confidently  cheerful  as 
Emerson."  And  perennial  cheerfulness  despite  his  recogni 
tion  of  the  numerous  things  that  are  wrong  with  the  world, 
is  his  most  distinguishing  personal  characteristic,  and  the 
characteristic  that  drew  all  to  him.  "Even  the  little  chil 
dren  knew  and  loved  him,"  says  Holmes,  "  and  babes  in 
arms  returned  his  angelic  smile."  Even  the  contemplation 
of  his  own  approaching  end  did  not  disturb  this  cheerful 
ness.  His  Terminus,  written  in  1867,  when  his  mental 
decay  began  to  make  itself  felt,  is  a  worthy  companion  to 
Tennyson's  Crossing  the  Bar  in  the  "  serene  dignity  "  with 
which  it  looks  toward  death.  We  cannot  close  our  sketch 
of  Emerson  better  than  by  quoting  the  last  lines  of  this 
poem. 

"  As  the  bird  trims  her  to  the  gale, 

I  trim  myself  to  the  storm  of  time, 

I  man  the  rudder,  reef  the  sail, 

Obey  the  voice  at  eve  obeyed  at  prime  : 

'  Lowly  faithful,  banish  fear, 

Right  onward  drive  unharmed  ; 

The  port,  well  worth  the  cruise,  is  near, 

And  every  wave  is  charmed.'  " 


HENRY   DAVID   THOREAU,    1817-1862 

"  I  am  a  mystic,  a  Transcendentalist,  and  a  natural  philos 
opher  to  boot,"  said  Thoreau ;  but  this  formidable  array  of 
titles  should  not  prevent  any  student  of  literature,  life,  and 


A  CONCORD  DIARIST 


177 


nature  from  making  his  acquaintance.  His  life  is  a  story 
of  "plain  living,"  and  his  writings  are  a  record  of  "high 
thinking"  —  a  combination  always  assuring  interest.  Tho- 
reau  has,  moreover,  grown  in  popularity  as  has  no  other 
Transcendentalist,  an  evidence  of  which  is  the  publication 
in  1906  of  his  complete  journal  just  as  he  left  it,  making 
fourteen  volumes  of  over  6000 
pages. 

A  Concord  Diarist.  —  Thoreau 
was  born  in  Concord,  the  home 
of  many  great  men  but  the 
birthplace  of  few,  July  12, 1817, 
of  French  and  Scotch  ancestry. 
Though  of  a  poor  family, — his 
father  was  a  pencil  maker,— 
Henry  managed  to  go  through 
the  schools,  and  with  some  lit 
tle  help  from  the  University, 
through  Harvard,  from  which 
he  was  graduated  in  1837. 
Among  his  college  themes  is 
one  of  his  sophomore  year  in 
which  he  recommends  the  keep 
ing  of  a  journal,  the  form  of  all 
his  writings.  From  1837  to  his  death  he  kept  a  journal, 
leaving  thirty  manuscript  volumes. 

Thoreau  is  usually  described  as  eccentric ;  and  the  first 
conspicuous  sign  of  this  in  his  biography  is  his  refusal  to 
take  his  diploma  -at  the  University  —  on  the  ground  that  it 
wasn't  worth  five  dollars  !  It  is  usually  intimated  that  he 
was  not  an  especially  good  student ;  but  when  he  went  to 
Maine  in  1838  seeking  a  school,  he  carried  with  him  strong 
letters  of  endorsement  from  Emerson,  from  Dr.  Ripley,  pas 
tor  of  the  Concord  Church,  and  from  President  Quincy,  of 


HENRY  DAVID  THOREAU. 

Of     whom     Hawthorne     said: 
"  He  is  as  ugly  as  sin.  .  . 

Ws 


But 


178  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

the  University.  It  appears  that  he  was  certainly  distin 
guished  in  Greek  and  in  English  composition.  After  teach 
ing  a  while,  he  took  up  his  father's  trade,  pencil  making; 
and  when  he  had  made  a  better  pencil,  he  refused  to  con 
tinue  at  it,  saying  that  he  would  not  do  the  same  thing  twice. 
He  then,  according  to  Emerson,  began  those  "endless  walks 
and  miscellaneous  studies,"  which  occupied  him  the  remain 
der  of  his  life.  One  of  these  journeys  took  him  the  entire 
length  of  Cape  Cod ;  another  into  Maine  ;  still  another  into 
Canada.  He  never  showed  interest  in  literary  fame,  and  his 
reports  of  these  trips  were  not  published  until  after  his 
death. 

In  1843  an  effort  was  made  by  Alcott  and  others  to  es 
tablish  in  Harvard  township  a  community  along  the  general 
lines  of  Brook  Farm ;  and  Thoreau  seems  to  have  been 
sought  as  a  member.  This  "  Paradise  Regained,"  called 
"  Fruitlands,"  he  visited,  but  he  had  no  desire  to  remain. 
It  was  a  vegetarian  community,  in  which  "the 'aspiring' 
vegetables,  those  which  grow  into  the  air  like  the  fruits, 
were  allowed,  but  the  baser  ones,  like  potatoes  and  beets, 
which  grow  downward,  were  forbidden,"  and  it  expired 
painlessly  in  less  than  a  year. 

The  Simple  Life,  and  "Walden."  —  Two  years  after  this 
Thoreau  made  a  social  experiment  of  his  own,  which  is  the 
most  familiar  episode  of  his  life.  He  had  then  become  an 
important  factor  in  Concord  life,  being  in  constant  demand 
as  lecturer  before  the  Athenaeum,  and  as  a  skillful  surveyor, 
gardener,  and  carpenter.  But  he  wished  "  to  transact  some 
private  business  with  the  fewest  obstacles  "  ;  and  so,  in  the 
year  we  have  now  reached  (1845)  he  borrowed  an  ax  from 
Alcott,1  and  a  piece  of  land  on  Walden  Pond  from  Emerson, 
and  built  himself  a  hut.  Here  for  a  little  over  two  years, 
with  his  flute,  spyglass,  and  transit  as  companions,  he  lived 
1  See  page  161. 


OTHER  WRITINGS  179 

the  simple  life  at  a  total  expense  of  less  than  seventy  dollars, 
and  kept  a  minute  record  of  his  observations  "  on  man,  on 
nature,  and  on  human  life." 

This  record,  the  book  Walden,  he  published  in  1854,  one  of 
the  two  books  from  his  pen  that  appeared  during  his  life. 
Though  much  of  what  it  contains  —  the  philosophical  por 
tions —  might  as  well  have  been  written  in  the  heart  of 
civilization,  the  better  and  greater  part  of  it  arose  out  of  his 
closeness  to  nature.  In  the  second  chapter,  What  I  Lived 
For,  he  says :  "  I  went  to  the  woods  because  I  wished  to  live 
deliberately,  to  front  only  the  essential  facts  of  life,  and  see 
if  I  could  not  learn  what  it  had  to  teach,  and  not,  when  I 
came  to  die,  discover  that  I  had  not  lived."  One  thing  he 
believed  he  had  already  learned  —  that  the  institution  of 
human  slavery  was  morally  wrong;  and  he  took  extreme 
ground  in  opposition  to  it.  An  experience  of  the  Walden 
period  shows  how  strongly  he  felt  on  the  subject.  Going 
into  the  village  one  afternoon  he  was  arrested  and  jailed, 
"  because  I  did  not  pay  a  tax  to,  or  recognize  the  authority 
of,  the  state  which  buys  and  sells  men,  women,  and  children, 
like  cattle  at  the  door  of  its  senate  house." 

The  great  virtue  of  the  book,  however,  is  to  be  found  not 
in  its  meditations'  on  Solitude  and  Higher  Laws,  or  in  its 
attacks  on  slavery  and  other  human  institutions,  but  in  its 
accounts  of  how  "  the  whippoorwills  chanted  their  vespers 
for  half  an  hour,"  of  the  changing  colors  of  Walden  water, 
and  of  "  seeing  the  spring  come  in."  It  has  opened  and  still 
opens  the  eyes  of  readers  to  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  the 
great  out-of-doors,  and  has  given  rise  to  an  illustrious  school 
of  nature  writers,  of  whom  John  Burroughs  is  perhaps  the 
greatest. 

Other  Writings. —  Before  Walden  Thoreau  had  published 
(1849)  A  Week  on  the  Concord  and  Merrimac  Rivers,  the 
record  of  a  trip  made  with  his  brother  in  a  boat  of  their  own 


180  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

construction.  The  Week  did  not  meet  a  long-felt  want,  and 
seven  hundred  of  the  thousand  copies  printed  were  returned 
to  the  writer.  This  fact  was  the  occasion  of  Thoreau's 
humorous  remark  that  he  had  a  library  of  nine  hundred 
volumes,  over  seven  hundred  of  which  he  himself  had  written. 
The  titles  of  works  published  after  his  death,  all  compiled 
from  his  journals,  are:  Excursions,  1863 ;  Maine  Woods,  1864; 
Cape  Cod,  1865 ;  A  Yankee  in  Canada,  1866 ;  Spring,  1881 ; 
Summer,  1884 ;  Winter,  1887  ;  Autumn,  1892 ;  and  Notes  on 
New  England  Birds,  1910.  He  did  publish,  however,  chiefly 
through  the  friendly  assistance  of  Horace  Greeley,  politician 
and  editor  of  the  New  York  Tribune,  a  number  of  articles  in 
magazines,  for  which  he  received  the  paltry  remuneration 
usual  at  the  time. 

Death,  and  Character. — Thoreau  continued  his  outdoor 
life  in  all  weathers,  and  is  believed  to  have  developed  by 
exposure  the  consumption  that  brought  about  his  death, 
which  took  place  May  6,  1862.  All  who  knew  him  were 
strongly  attracted  to  him  as  a  beautiful  character,  and  noth 
ing  in  his  life  better  justified  their  attraction  than  some 
sentiments  expressed  in  his  last  weeks,  when  he  knew  death 
was  at  hand.  "  When  I  was  a  very  little  boy,"  he  said  to 
one,  "  I  learned  that  I  must  die,  and  I  set  that  down,  so,  of 
course,  I  am  not  disappointed  now."  To  Alcott  he  said :  "  I 
shall  leave  the  world  without  a  regret,"  though  to  few  men 
had  "  the  mere  living  "  been  more  delightful.  To  a  young 
friend  he  wrote :  "  I  suppose  that  I  have  not  many  months 
to  live ;  but,  of  course,  I  know  nothing  about  it.  I  may 
add,  that  I  am  enjoying  existence  as  much  as  ever,  and  re 
gret  nothing."  Emerson  tells  us  that  Thoreau  never  went 
to  church,  and  in  the  eyes  of  many  he  was  an  irreligious 
man ;  but  the  sentences  just  quoted  from  the  last  weeks  of  a 
long  and  painful  illness  show  a  faith  to  which  not  all 
Christians  attain. 


DEATH,  AND  CHARACTER 


181 


Thoreau  is  often  spoken  of  as  an  imitator  or  a  mere  echo 
of  Emerson,  but  a  greater  mistake  could  hardly  be  made. 
Although  their  theories  of  life  touched  at  many  points,  both 


THOREAU  CAIRN  ON  THE  SHORE  OF  WALDEN  POND. 

Every  "  pilgrim "  adds  a  stone  to  the  pile.     (Photograph  copyright  by 

Detroit  Publishing  Company.) 

are  extremely  individual,  Thoreau  even  more  so  than  his 
predecessor.  He  represents  admirably  the  unsocial  aspect 
of  Transcendentalism,  practicing  what  he  preached.  "So 
ciety  is  always  diseased,"  he  asserts  in  Natural  History  of 


182  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Massachusetts,1  "  and  the  best  is  the  most  so.  There  is  no 
scent  in  it  so  wholesome  as  that  of  the  pines,  nor  any  fra 
grance  so  penetrating  and  restorative  as  the  life-everlasting 
in  high  pastures."  Three  years  we  find  him  in  his  retreat 
at  Walden,  endeavoring  to  avoid  contact  with  this  "dis 
eased  "  institution.  Again,  "  Hope  and  the  future  for  me," 
he  says  in  an  essay  on  Walking,  "  are  not  in  towns  and 
cities,  but  in  the  impervious  and  quaking  swamps."  Emer 
son  saw  as  plainly  as  did  Thoreau  the  imperfections  in  so 
ciety,  in  government, — in  fact,  in  all  human  institutions; 
but  he  never  set  about  improving  matters  by  withdrawing 
himself  from  the  crowd  and  committing  his  protests  to  the 
pages  of  a  journal. 

Style  and  the  Man.  —  Thoreau's  mode  of  composition  nat 
urally  resulted  in  disconnected,  somewhat  incoherent  writ 
ing.  Between  a  brief  description  of  the  hyla  in  March  and 
a  brief  rhapsody  on  the  joys  of  early  rising  in  spring,  we 
find  the  following  :  "  Life  is  a  battle  in  which  you  are  to 
show  your  pluck,  and  woe  be  to  the  coward.  Whether 
passed  on  a  bed  of  sickness  or  a  tented  field,  it  is  ever  the 
same  fair  play,  and  admits  no  foolish  distinction."  Between 
a  humorous  story  of  an  ignoramus's  experience  with  bees 
and  a  quiet  comment  on  shadows  observed  in  bubbling 
water,  we  read :  "  A  wise  man  will  not  go  out  of  his  way 
for  information.  He  might  as  well  go  out  of  nature  or 
commit  suicide."  And  one  speculates  in  vain  as  to  the 
origin  of  such  a  note  as  this  of  March  27,  1840 :  "  Think 
how  finite,  after  all,  the  known  world  is.  Money  coined  at 
Philadelphia  is  a  legal  tender  over  how  much  of  it  ?  You 
may  carry  ship-biscuit,  beef,  and  pork  quite  round  to  the 
place  you  set  out  from.  England  sends  her  felons  to  the 
other  side  for  safe-keeping  and  convenience." 

This  aimlessness,  desultoriness,  is  not,  however,  altogether 
1  Iii  the  volume  Excursions. 


STYLE  AND  THE  MAN 


183 


a  defect;  it  shows  us  the  man  himself  as  no  amount  of 
methodical,  studied  writing  with  publication  in  view  could 
show  him.  Nothing  in  Thoreau,  indeed,  seems  studied  un 
less  it  be  the  disregard  of  literary  fame  already  referred  to ; 
and  he  believed  literature  —  at  least,  American  literature  — 
to  be  suffering  from  too  much  regard  for  the  public.  In  the 


THOREAU'S  HOME  IN  CONCORD. 

volume  from  which  the  quotations  in  this  paragraph  are 
drawn  *  he  writes :  "  Look  at  our  literature ;  what  a  poor, 
puny,  social  thing,  seeking  sympathy  !  The  author  trou 
bles  himself  about  his  readers,  would  fain  have  one  before 
he  dies.  He  stands  too  near  his  printer,  he  corrects  the 
proofs.'7  Our  rejection  of  such  exaggerated  statements 

1  Early  Spring  in  Massachusetts,  made  up  by  bringing  together  pas 
sages  from  the  same  days  in  successive  years. 


184  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

does  not  prevent  our  admiring  the  independent  mind  be 
hind  them. 

Although  this  independence  may  have  been  pushed  too  far, 
—  "almost  to  a  point  of  anarchy," — Thoreau's  service  to  his 
own  and  succeeding  generations  in  America  is  great  enough 
to  justify  pardoning  even  anarchy,  especially  when  it  is  "of 
a  harmless  variety."  This  service  has  already  been  suffi 
ciently  indicated.  He  was  the  first  of  a  long  and  illustrious 
line  of  presenters  and  interpreters  of  every-day  nature  to 
the  less  favored  among  his  fellow-men.  Doubtless  much 
of  the  modern  enthusiasm  for 'nature  study  and  the  simple 
life  is,  as  Lowell  calls  it,  "  sentimentalism  "  and  "  a  mark  of 
disease  —  general  liver-complaint."  But  this  is  not  Thoreau's 
enthusiasm  —  it  is  a  perversion  of  that;  nor  should  he  be 
held  responsible  for  it.  What  he  did  was  to  set  forth  in  a 
notably  pure  style  the  things  to  be  observed  in  the  habits 
and  actions  of  the  woodpecker,  chickadee,  song  sparrow, 
bluebird,  goldfinch,  wild  duck,  red  squirrel,  hyla,  muskrat ; 
and  the  benefits  to  be  got  from  a  patient,  loving,  firsthand 
study  of  all  God's  creatures.  Of  his  method  of  observation 
Emerson  says:  "He  knew  how  to  sit  immovable,  a  part  of 
the  rock  he  rested  on,  until  the  bird,  the  reptile,  the  fish  which 
had  retired  from  him,  should  come  back  and  resume  its 
habits,  —  nay,  moved  by  curiosity,  should  come  to  him  and 
watch  him."  And  of  his  equipment  for  this,  his  life  work  : 
"His  power  of  observation  seemed  to  indicate  additional 
senses;  he  saw  as  with  microscope,  heard  as  with  ear- 
trumpet,  and  his  memory  was  a  photographic  register  of  all 
he  saw  and  heard." 


CHAPTER   IV 

FROM  THE    CLOSE   OF   THE   CIVIL   WAR   TO   THE 
DEATHS   OF   WHITMAN   AND  WHITTIER 

Introduction.  —  The  literature  of  1865-1892 1  is  without 
doubt  inferior  to  that  of  1809-1865  —  the  "golden  age." 
The  second  half  of  the  century  can  claim  hardly  a  literary 
artist  to  rank  with  Poe  and  Hawthorne,  or  a  master  of  a 
pure  and  simple  style  like  Lincoln,  or  a  single  poem  to  be 
placed  beside  Thanatopsis  or  The  Raven.  The  average  writer 
of  this  period  was  perhaps  superior  to  the  average  in  the 
period  preceding;  but  there  were  a  conspicuously  smaller 
number  who  rose  above  the  average. 

It  is  not  uninteresting  to  observe  that,  great  though  it  is, 
the  poetry  of  the  Victorian  Age  in  England  is  also  of  a 
lower  order  than  that  of  its  predecessor,  the  so-called  Age 
of  Romanticism.  Tennyson,  Browning,  Arnold,  Swinburne, 
Morris  —  each  had  a  following  among  the  people  as  well  as 
among  the  critics,  and  the  acceptance  of  Tennyson  was  well- 
nigh  universal ;  but  they  have  generally  been  regarded  as 
inferior  to  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  Byron,  Shelley,  and 
Keats.  In  criticism  there  are  among  the  Victorians  many 

1  The  dividing  line  between  Chapters  III  and  IV  is  obviously  arbitrary. 
Four  of  the  writers  already  considered  lived  and  wrote  for  some  years 
after  the  war ;  six  of  the  eight  treated  in  the  present  chapter  were  known 
before  the  war.  Nothing,  however,  written  after  1865  by  the  first  group 
(except  Bryant's  Homer)  added  to  their  reputations.  The  six  of  the 
second  group  have  been  assigned  to  this  chapter  chiefly,  it  should  be  said, 
because  they  seem  nearer  our  time. 

185 


186  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

names  that  promise  to  hold  a  permanently  high  place ;  but 
with  the  possible  exception  of  Arnold  their  work  does  not 
equal  in  quality  that  of  Lamb,  Hazlitt,  DeQuincey,  and 
Coleridge.  Only  in  the  field  of  prose  fiction  does  the  later 
nineteenth  century  certainly  surpass  the  earlier. 

Possibly  the  same  explanations  will  serve  for  the  decline 
in  both  England  and  America,  beginning  to  show  itself,  say, 
in  the  sixties,  and  becoming  a  striking  fact  in  the  year  1892, 
which  marked  the  close  of  an  epoch  in  both  countries.  The 
age  was  (and  still  is)  intensely  practical,  a  characteristic 
utterly  opposed  to  the  imaginative.  It  is,  therefore,  a  busy 
age :  men  and  women  have  no  time  for  writings  that  require 
much  thought,  unless  the  matter  be  in  some  way  related  to 
their  business.  Outside  of  business  the  chief  interests  seem 
to  be  politics  and  sport — neither  of  which  can  be  expected 
to  inspire  literature  of  a  high  order.  All  literatures,  more 
over,  show  ebbs  and  flows  in  the  course  of  a  century  or 
more;  and  it  was  but  normal  that  in  both  England  and 
America  the  high  accomplishment  of  about  three  quarters 
of  the  nineteenth  century  should  be  succeeded  by  something 
inferior.  The  assumption  of  the  inferiority  of  literature 
since  1892  is,  it  should  be  acknowledged,  subject  to  a  quali 
fication  mentioned  in  our  concluding  section.1 

HENRY   WADSWORTH   LONGFELLOW,    1807-1882 

A  Much-Loved  Poet.  —  While  few  would  make  the  claim 
that  Longfellow  is  America's  greatest  poet,  fewer  still 
would  question  his  being  the  best  known  and  best  loved. 
His  fame,  moreover,  and  the  affection  in  which  he  is  held 
by  readers,  do  not  stop  with  the  bounds  of  the  United 
States,  but  extend  to  every  modern  civilized  country.  His 
complete  works  have  been  translated  into  ten  languages, 

1  Page  261. 


A  MUCH-LOVED  POET 


187 


and  single  poems  into  many  others.  Of  Evangeline,  an  in 
tensely  American  poem,  there  are  ten  versions  in -German, 
four  in  French,  three 
in  Swedish,  two  each 
in  .  Italian,  Spanish, 
Portuguese,  Danish, 
and  Polish,  and  one 
each  in  Dutch  and 
Bohemian.  The  suc 
cess  of  Hiawatha  is 
quite  as  notable,  since 
the  subject  and  treat 
ment  are  even  more 
local  than  Evangeline. 

What  is  the  basis 
of  this  wide  appeal  ? 
it  is  natural  to  ask. 
The  answer  may  be 
given  somewhat  in 
the  words  of  the  poet 
himself : 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


"Ye  who  believe  in  affection  that  hopes,  and  endures,  and  is  patient, 
Ye  who  believe  in  the  beauty  and  strength  of  woman's  devotion, 
List  to  the  mournful  tradition  still  sung  by  the  pines  of  the  forest ; 
List  to  a  Tale  of  Love  in  Acadie,  home  of  the  happy." 

Such  is  the  theme  of  Evangeline,  —  a  theme  finding  an  at 
tentive  ear  in  Dane  and  German,  Pole  and  Spaniard,  as  well 
as  in  American.  To  whom  is  Hiawatha  addressed  ? 

"Ye     .     .     . 

Who  have  faith  in  God  and  Nature, 
Who  believe  that  in  all  ages 
Every  human  heart  is  human, 
That  in  even  savage  bosoms 


188  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

There  are  longings,  yearnings,  strivings 
For  the  good  they  comprehend  not, 
That  the  feeble  hands  and  helpless, 
Groping  blindly  in  the  darkness, 
Touch  God's  right  hand  in  that  darkness, 
And  are  lifted  up  and  strengthened  ;  — 
Listen  to  this  simple  story, 
To  this  song  of  Hiawatha." 

And  so  with  many  others.  Longfellow  was  a  wonderful 
story-teller,  and  all  men  enjoy  good  stories ;  his  stories  deal 
with  themes  which,  like  those  in  Bacon's  essays,  "  come 
home  to  men's  business  and  bosoms." 

One  other  point  lends  effectiveness  and  popularity  to 
Longfellow's  poetry.  Like  Bryant,  Milton,  Tennyson,  and 
many  other  poets,  he  felt  himself  called  to  write  verse  — 
felt  himself  impelled  to  it  by  a  power  beyond  and  above 
himself.  In  The  Poet  and  His  Songs  he  tells  us  :  "  As  the 
birds  come  in  the  spring,  ...  As  the  stars  come  at  eve 
ning,  ...  As  the  rain  comes  from  the  cloud,  ...  As  the 
grape  comes  to  the  vine,  — 

"  So  come  to  the  poet  his  songs, 

All  hitherward  blown 
From  the  misty  realm,  that  belongs 
To  the  vast  unknown. 


"  For  voices  pursue  him  by  day, 

And  haunt  him  by  night, 
And  he  listens,  and  needs  must  obey, 
When  the  angel  says,  '  Write  ! '  " 

Poe  was  a  greater  genius,  a  greater  artist ;  but  with  him 
poetry  was  "  a  passion,"  not  a  mission,  and  he  utterly  re 
jected  the  idea  that  a  poet  might  be  a  teacher.  He  will 
continue  to  hold  a  higher  place  than  Longfellow  in  the 
realm  of  art ;  but  he  will  never  make  the  host  of  friends 


DISTINGUISHED  ANCESTRY  189 

made  by  the  New  Englander,  nor  exert  the  latter's  uplifting 
influence. 

Distinguished  Ancestry.  —  Henry  Wads  worth  Longfellow 
was  born  in  Portland,  Maine,  February  27,  1807,  while  the 
state  was  still  a  portion  of  Massachusetts.  On  his  mother's 
side  he  was  descended  from  the  John  Alden  and  Priscilla 
Mullins  whose  romance  he  celebrated  in  Miles  Standish  ;  on 
his  father's,  from  an  old  English  family  of  which  the  first 
American  representative  settled  in  Newbury,  Massachu 
setts,  about  1676.  The  poet's  father  and  great-grandfather 
were  graduates  of  Harvard,  and  held  various  positions  of 
trust  in  the  colony  and  state  ;  his  grandfather  was  legislator 
and  judge.  His  maternal  grandfather,  Peleg  Wadsworth, 
was  an  eminent  general  during  the  Revolution,  and  repre 
sented  the  Portland  district  in  Congress  for  fourteen  years. 
If  the  Wise  Man  was  right  in  saying  that  "  a  good  name  is 
rather  to  be  chosen  than  great  riches,"  Longfellow  was  truly 
blessed  in  his  inheritance. 

His  boyhood  appears  to  have  been  uneventful,  but  happy. 
In  the  pious,  cultured  New  England  household  he  followed 
the  routine  of  church  and  school,  with  some  attention  to  the 
arts,  and  abundant  playtime.  At  the  age  of  fourteen,  he 
passed  the  examinations  for  entrance  to  Bowdoin  College, 
at  Brunswick,  Maine,  of  which  his  father  was  a  trustee ;  but 
his  first  year's  work  was  done  at  home,  perhaps  because  of 
his  youth,  and  he  entered  Bowdoin  in  the  sophomore  year. 
In  a  rather  notable  class  Longfellow,  not  a  very  communi 
cative  or  "  clubbable  "  fellow,  found  no  bosom  friends ;  but 
in  after  years  he  developed  a  strong  and  lasting  affection 
for  one  who  rivaled  him  as  the  most  distinguished  son  of 
Bowdoin  —  Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 

Throughout  his  college  course  Longfellow  was  a  faithful 
and  capable  student,  religiously  attending  required  lectures 
on  chemistry  and  anatomy  when  he  longed  for  leisure  to 


190  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

read.  Determined  to  "  be  eminent  in  something,"  and  having 
"  a  very  strong  predilection  for  literary  pursuits,"  he  never 
theless  gave  to  every  college  exercise  the  time  and  energy 
necessary  for  success ;  and  he  was  graduated  fourth  in  a 
class  of  thirty-eight,  in  which,  we  are  told,  "there  was  a 
large  amount  of  ambition  and  an  intense  struggle  for  rank 
in  scholarship." 


BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 

About  the  time  of  Longfellow's  and  Hawthorne's  student  days.    From  an 

old  print. 

Beginning  of  a  Literary  Life.  —  Toward  the  middle  of  his 
second  year  in  college,  and  eighteen  months  before  his 
graduation,  Longfellow  wrote  to  his  father  of  his  wish  to 
be  a  man  of  letters  rather  than  a  follower  of  one  of  the 
learned  professions.  In  order  that  he  might  better  fit  him 
self  for  this  occupation  he  desired  to  spend  a  year  at  Har 
vard  after  leaving  Bowdoin  and  before  attaching  himself  to 
"  some  literary  periodical."  To  the  proposal  of  literature  as 
a  life  work  his  father  demurred  on  the  ground  that  America 
would  not  at  that  time  support  "  merely  literary  men  "  ;  but 
to  the  wish  for  a  year  at  Harvard  he  gave  approval.  Other 


BEGINNING  OF  A  LITERARY  LIFE 


191 


powers  than  the  student  or  his  father,  however,  were  to 
have  a  hand  in  determining  his  career.  At  Commencement, 
1825,  the  trustees  of  Bowdoin  voted  to  establish  a  professor 
ship  of  modern  languages,  and  offered  the  position  to  Long 
fellow,  an  eighteen-year-old  graduate,  on  condition  that  he 
would  spend  some  time  in  Europe  to  fit  himself  for  the 
work.  Eagerly  he  accepted  the  offer,  and  sailed  for  France 


THE  CRAIGIB  HOUSE,  CAMBRIDGE. 

Which,  though  it  has  other  interesting  associations,  is  now  remembered 
chiefly  as  Longfellow's  home. 

on  May  15,  1826,  the  long  delay  being  caused  by  the  neces 
sity  of  awaiting  a  favorable  season  for  the  voyage. 

The  prospective  professor  spent  three  years  in  Europe  — 
one  in  Italy,  and  about  eight  months  each  in  France,  Spain, 
and  Germany.  French,  Spanish,  and  Italian  he  mastered, 
acquiring  an  excellent  speaking  knowledge  and  reading 
extensively.  He  also  traveled  much  and  went  much  into 


192  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

society,  having  letters  from  Washington  Irving  and  from 
Professor  Ticknor  of  Harvard  to  social  and  literary  leaders 
everywhere.  Of  the  countries  he  visited  the  deepest  im 
pression  was  made  by  Spain  —  the  romantic,  medieval  at 
mosphere  of  which  charmed  him  greatly.  With  German  he 
was  less  successful  at  this  time,  though  on  a  subsequent  visit 
he  mastered  this  also,  as  well  as  two  kindred  languages  — 
Dutch  and  Swedish. 

Only  two  untoward  events  marred  his  residence  abroad. 
The  first  was  an  illness  —  fever  contracted  by  remaining  in 
Rome  till  July,  which  "completely  shattered'7  him  for  a 
time.  The  second,  which  occurred  shortly  after  his  recov 
ery,  was  news  from  America  that  the  Bowdoin  trustees  had 
reconsidered  their  offer,  and  were  willing  to  make  him  only 
a  tutor,  instead  of  a  professor.  This  news,  he  wrote  his 
father,  "was  very  jarring  to  his  feelings ";  and  he  ex 
pressed  considerable  and  quite  justifiable  indignation  at 
their  saying  that  he  was  too  young.  He  must,  he  said,  de 
cline  the  minor  appointment;  and  while  he  hoped  not  to 
pain  his  father  by  this  action,  he  felt  "  no  kind  of  anxiety 
for  his  future  prospects.''' 

When  Longfellow  reached  New  York  again  in  August, 
1829,  he  had  no  definite  employment  in  mind,  but  a  multi 
tude  of  plans  for  writing  and  lecturing.  On  the  first  of  the 
following  month,  however,  the  trustees  reconsidered  their 
reconsideration,  and  elected  him  professor  of  modern  lan 
guages  and  librarian  !  The  second  position  appears  to  have 
been  given  him  as  an  excuse  for  adding  a  hundred  dollars  to 
his  salary.  He  held  the  chair  at  Bowdoin  for  six  years, 
attaining  from  the  outset  great  popularity  with  both  faculty 
and  students,  and  making  a  great  name  as  a  teacher.  So 
little  progress  had  the  teaching  of  modern  languages  made 
that  he  was  forced  to  write  his  own  textbooks  in  French 
and  Spanish.  At  the  beginning  of  his  third  year  as  profes- 


PROFESSOR  AT  HARVARD  193 

sor,  Longfellow  married  Miss  May  Potter,  a  childhood 
schoolmate  in  Portland  and  daughter  of  a  friend  and  neigh 
bor  of  his  family.  The  happy  union  lasted  only  four  years, 
being  broken  by  Mrs.  Longfellow's  death  in  November,  1835. 
Professor  at  Harvard.  —  So  great  was  Longfellow's  success 
at  Bowdoin  that,  when  Ticknor  expressed  his  intention  to 


LONGFELLOW  IN  HIS  STUDY. 

resign  the  professorship  of  modern  languages  at  Harvard, 
President  Quincy  offered  Longfellow  the  position.  The 
last  paragraph  of  the  letter  making  the  offer  gave  permission 
to  spend  a  year  in  Germany,  which  Longfellow  recognized 
as  a  request  to  do  so.  He  accepted,  and  in  April,  1835, 
sailed- a  second  time  for  Europe,  this  time  by  way  of  England. 
Returning  to  America  in  the  autumn  of  1836,  he  took 
up  his  duties  at  Harvard  in  December,  and  continued  to 
perform  them  for  eighteen  years.  The  letters  of  his  first 


194  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

few  years  at  Cambridge  complain  occasionally  of  the  time 
required  for  lecturing,  and  oftener  of  the  trouble  his  foreign 
assistants  gave  him  —  "  outlandish  animals,"  he  calls  them. 
On  the  whole,  however,  he  realized  that  he  had  considerable 
leisure;  and  he  began  to  use  it  in  writing  poetry.  His  first 
volume  of  verse,  Voices  of  the  Night,  appeared  in  December, 
1839,  and  met  with  an  immediate  and  extraordinary  success. 
From  this  time  up  to  the  ninth  day  before  his  death  (when 
he  wrote  the  last  stanza  of  The  Bells  of  /San  Bias)  his  ear 
was  constantly  hearing  the  "  Angel "  say  "  Write  !  "  and  his 
heart  as  constantly  prompted  him  to  obey. 

After  six  years'  teaching  and  writing  at  Harvard,  Long 
fellow's  health  showed  signs  of  failing ;  and  on  the  recom 
mendation  of  his  physician  he  made  his  third  trip  to  Europe, 
to  try  the  effect  of  the  sea  trip  and  of  the  water  cure  at 
Marienberg.  The  events  of  importance  in  this  six  months' 
vacation  were  the  meeting  of  the  German  poet,  Freiligrath, 
and  the  writing  of  eight  anti slavery  poems  on  the  voyage 
home.  The  acquaintance  with  Freiligrath  ripened  into  a 
deep  and  lasting  friendship  ;  and  much  of  Longfellow's 
popularity  in  Germany  is  due  to  this  friend,  who  translated 
Hiawatha  into  his  native  tongue,  and  in  various  ways  ad 
vanced  his  friend's  interest.  The  poems  on  slavery  seem, 
when  compared  with  Whittier's  and  Lowell's,  very  luke 
warm,  and  the  author  subsequently  suppressed  them.  There 
is,  however,  no  doubt  of  his  strong  feeling  on  the  subject ; 
his  refusal  to  take  a  prominent  place  among  the  Abolition 
ists,  and  his  omission  of  this  group  of  poems  from  his  first 
collected  edition,  were  due  merely  to  an  innate  dislike  of 
all  controversy. 

To  most  of  Longfellow's  acquaintances  it  doubtless  ap 
peared  that  he  was  leading  an  ideal  existence,  with  a  dis 
tinguished  position  in  America's  greatest  university,  a 
rapidly  growing  reputation  as  poet,  a  beautiful  spot  to  live 


TEACHING  HINDERS  WRITING  195 

in,  and  a  large  and  devoted  circle  of  friends.  But  it  was 
not  ideal :  his  life  was  "  too  lonely  and  restless  "  ;  he  "  needed 
the  soothing  influences  of  a  home."  Thus  he  wrote  to  his 
sister-in-law,  Miss  Eliza  Potter,  in  May,  1843,  with  the 
announcement  that  he  was  to  be  married  again.  His  second 
wife,  Miss  Frances  Appleton,  daughter  of  a  wealthy  Boston 
gentleman,  he  had  met  seven  years  previously  in  Europe ; 
and  it  is  believed  that  the  resemblance  of  Mary  Ashburton 
in  Hyperion  (his  prose  romance)  to  her  is  evidence  of  the 
strong  impression  she  then  made  upon  him.  In  the  letter 
to  Miss  Potter  just  referred  to  he  said  that  Miss  Appleton 
possessed  "  in  a  high  degree  those  virtues  and  excellent 
traits  of  character  which  so  distinguished "  his  first  wife. 
She  was  certainly  a  comfort  and  inspiration  to  him ;  and  no 
more  touching  poetic  record  of  devotion  can  be  found  than 
his  ?onnet,  The  Cross  of  Snow,  written  eighteen  years  after 
her  tragic  death. 

Teaching  Hinders  Writing.  —  Longfellow's  work  at  the 
University  grew  harder  year  by  year.  He  was  extremely 
conscientious ;  and  besides  the  time  required  for  actual 
teaching,  he  gave  more  time  and  much  thought  and  energy 
to  the  thorough  organization  of  his  department,  a  difficult 
matter,  since  there  were  no  models  and  no  traditions  con 
nected  with  collegiate  instruction  in  modern  languages. 
He  became  wearied  of  the  routine  work,  and  grieved  that  it 
left  him  no  strength  for  poetry.  At  the  end  of  1853  he  re 
cords  in  his  journal  that  the  year  has  been  "absolutely 
barren  "  of  either  poetic  or  prose  production  —  "  there  has 
been  nothing  but  the  college  work."  In  the  seventeen  years 
since  he  came  to  Cambridge  he  had  written  two  prose  works, 
Hyperion  and  Kavanagh,  four  slender  volumes  of  short 
poems,  and  three  longer  poems  —  The  Spanish  /Student,  a 
drama;  Evangeline;  and  The  Golden  Legend,  a  picture  of 
religious  and  monastic  life  in  the  Middle  Ages.  The  last- 


196  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


/A*4~-  «*  ^Aml-A^  ;  **«7.   Xv.<au*«^     u 


FACSIMILE  OF  MANUSCRIPT  OF  LONGFELLOW. 

Telling  how  he  came  into  possession  of  the  story  of  Evangeline. 

(Library  of  Congress.) 


THE  FREED  PEN  197 

mentioned  poem  appeared  in.  late  autumn,  1851 ;  and  be 
tween  this  date  and  December  31, 1853,  no  other  composition 
came  from  his  pen. 

With  the  "Voices"  still  pursuing,  he  decided  to  give  up 
his  professorship,  and  offered  his  resignation  to  take  effect 
in  the  spring  of  1854,  or  as  soon  thereafter  as  possible.  The 
entry  in  his  journal  for  April  19  of  that  year  reads :  "  At 
eleven  o'clock,  in  No.  6  University  Hall,  I  delivered  my 
last  lecture,  —  the  last  I  shall  ever  deliver  here  or  any 
where."  At  the  beginning  of  his  forty-eighth  year,  then, 
the  pcet  found  himself  at  liberty  to  map  out  a  course  of  life 
for  himself,  unhampered  by  distasteful  routine  work.  "I 
am  not,  however,"  he  writes  to  Freiligrath,  "  very  sanguine 
about  the  results." 

The  Freed  Pen.  —  As  shown  by  the  dates  given  above, 
Longfellow  had  written  no  poetry  during  the  two  years  pre 
ceding  his  determination  to  stop  teaching.  Within  a  month 
after  his  last  lecture  he  was  again  writing ;  in  another  month 
he  has  "hit  upon  a  plan  for  a  poem  on  the  American  In 
dians."  Kepeated  entries  in  his  journal  show  that  Hiawatha 
was  much  in  his  mind ;  and  at  the  end  of  his  first  year  of 
freedom  he  could  write  to  Freiligrath  that  he  had  two  vol 
umes  of  poems  "  ready  for  the  press  "  —  the  first  flight  of 
Birds  of  Passage,  and  Hiawatlia. 

From  then  till  his  death  the  Muse  never  left  him  for  any 
great  length  of  time.  Miles  Standish  was  published  in 
1858;  Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn  in  1863,  1872,  and  1874;  a 
translation  of  Dante  in  1870;  New  England  Tragedies  in 
1868 ;  Christus  in  1872.  Besides  these  major  works,  the  last 
three  of  which  are  hardly  more  than  names  to  the  majority 
of  the  poet's  admirers,  there  appeared  in  various  periodicals, 
and  subsequently  in  collections,  a  number  of  his  greatest 
poems.  Among  the  notable  short  poems  of  this  last  period 
are  :  My  Lost  Youth,  a  "  memory  of  Portland  " ;  The  Hang- 


198 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


ing  of  the  Cram,  "the  story  of  life,  tlie  sweet  and  pathetic 
poem  of  the  fireside";  Morituri  tialutamus,  written  for  the 
fiftieth  anniversary  of  his  class  at  Bowdoin  ;  Herons  of  Elm- 
tvood,  a  "friendly  greeting"  to  Lowell,  his  successor  at 
Harvard;  and  a  number  of  sonnets  to  which  critics  have 
given  a  high  rank  in  that  difficult  field.  Longfellow  is  the 


THE  WAYSIDE  INN  AT  SUDBURY,  MASS. 
Which  Longfellow  made  the  scene  of  his  Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn. 

only  American  to  obtain  general  recognition  in  England  as 
a  sonnet  writer. 

The  Atlantic  Monthly.  —  A  notable  event  in  American 
letters  was  the  establishment  in  Boston  in  1857  of  the 
Atlantic  Monthly.  Lowell,  Holmes,  Emerson,  were  prime 
movers  in  the  enterprise,  and  Longfellow,  though  not  "so 
eager  as  the  rest,"  was  interested,  and  a  contributor.  In 


HONORS  OF  LONGFELLOW'S  LAST  YEARS     199 

1861  occurred  tlie  death  of  his  wife,  already  referred  to. 
Her  dress  caught  fire  from  a  match  dropped  on  the  floor, 
and  she  was  so  severely  burned  that  she  died  next  day. 
The  poet,  in  his  efforts  to  save  her,  was  badly  injured  also, 
and  was  unable  to  leave  his  bed  to  attend  the  funeral. 

Honors  of  Longfellow's  Last  Years.  —  Only  one  more  epi 
sode  in.  Longfellow's  life  need  be  chronicled.  In  May, 
1868,  with  a  family  party  of  ten,  he  made  his  fourth  and 
last  trip  to  Europe  —  a  pleasure  trip ;  and  the  old  and  ex 
perienced  traveler  found  as  much  of  interest  as  did  the 
young  and  inexperienced  ones.  Besides  the  sight-seeing, 
the  distinguished  poet  had  to  accept  overwhelming  atten 
tions  in  London  (including  requested  visits  to  the  Queen 
and  the  Prince  of  Wales),  and  received  honorary  degrees 
from  both  Oxford  and  Cambridge.  In  1879  a  delightful 
experience  came  to  him  —  the  presentation  of  an  armchair 
by  Cambridge  (Massachusetts)  children ;  and  the  year  fol 
lowing  he  was  honored  and  highly  pleased  by  a  celebration 
of  his  birthday  in  the  schools  of  Cincinnati.  The  rapid 
passing  of  his  life-long  friends,  however,  —  Hawthorne, 
Charles  Sumner,  Professors  Felton  and  Agassiz,  and  others, 
—  caused  him  much  grief ;  and  neither  the  honors  paid  him 
by  his  own  countrymen  nor  those  paid  by  numerous  distin 
guished  foreigners  could  make  him  altogether  happy.  His 
death  occurred  in  March,  1882,  after  a  short  illness.  Of  the 
many  evidences  of  the  esteem  in  which  Longfellow  was  held 
none  is  more  notable  than  the  placing  of  a  bust  of  him  in 
Westminster  Abbey^  the  cost  defrayed  by  several  hundred 
English  admirers.  The  bust  was  unveiled  less  than  two  years 
after  the  poet's  death,  one  of  the  addresses  on  the  occasion 
being  delivered  by  his  devoted  friend  and  fellow  poet, 
Lowell,  then  Minister  to  England. 

As  was  stated  at  the  beginning  of  this  sketch,  Long 
fellow  is  not  the  greatest  American  poet,  but  he  is  the 


200  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

best  known  and  best  loved.  The  poet  of  the  home,  the  poet 
of  childhood,  the  poet  of  American  history,  the  poet  of 
brotherhood,  the  poet  of  old-time  love,  the  poet  of  the  ele 
mental  emotions  —  these  are  some  of  the  designations  ap 
plied  to  him  and  explaining  the  high  place  he  holds  in  the 
people's  hearts.  There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  he  will 
ever  lose  this  place.  The  poems  that  have  at  some  time 
appealed  to  every  reader  will  continue  to  appeal  to  succeed 
ing  generations,  so  simple,  so  true,  and  so  universal  are  the 
feelings  they  touch. 

JAMES   RUSSELL   LOWELL,    1819-1891 

What  is  Lowell  ?  —  In  much  the  same  situation  as  Zekle, 
who 

"  stood  a  spell  on  one  foot  fust, 
Then  stood  a  spell  on  t'other,"  l 

the  writer  finds  himself  who  would  adequately  characterize 
James  Russell  Lowell.  Literary  critic,  political  scientist, 
familiar  essayist,  poet,  teacher,  scholar,  diplomat,  humor 
ist,  —  in  all  these  fields  Lowell  made  a  distinguished  name 
for  himself;  in  the  first,  he  is  generally  admitted  to  have 
attained  the  highest  place  in  America;  and  in  the  last,  if 
not  the  highest,  then  only  one  short  of  the  highest.  To  the 
vast  majority  of  readers  he  is  chiefly  a  poet ;  to  a  somewhat 
smaller  number  he  is  the  author  of  T7ie  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal. 
To  the  serious  student  of  our  literature,  however,  Lowell's 
chief  claims  to  distinction  are  to  be  found  in  such  literary 
essays  as  Thoreau  and  Don  Quixote',  in  such  humorous  ones 
as  My  Garden  Acquaintance  and  On  a  Certain  Condescension 
in  Foreigners ;  in  the  character  of  Hosea  Biglow,  probably 
Lowell's  most  original  performance;  and  in  the  lecture, 
1  Lowell's  "  The  Courtin',"  in  Biglow  Papers,  Second  Series. 


A  LIFELONG  CAMBRTDGIAN 


201 


Democracy,  still  regarded  as  an  admirable  exposition  of  the 
American  theory  of  government. 

A  Lifelong  Cambridgian.  —  Lowell  was  born  in  Cambridge, 
Massachusetts,  February  22,  1819;  he  died  there  August 
12,  1891 ;  and  he  lived  there  almost  continuously  for  the 
first  sixty  years  of  his 
life.  Like  Emerson, 
Hawthorne,  Longfel 
low,  he  was  on  both 
sides  descended  from 
long  lines  of  illustrious 
New  Englanders.  He 
was  the  fourth  of  the 
family  to  be  graduated 
from  Harvard,  but  the 
first  to  be  distinguished 
by  election  as  class 
poet.  In  order  to  get 
his  poem  before  his 
classmates,  the  author 
had  to  print  it ;  for 
during  his  last  term  he 
indulged  in  a  prank 
which  resulted  in  his 

being  suspended  till  after  class  day.  After  graduation  in 
arts  Lowell  took  up  the  study  of  law,  receiving  his  degree 
in  that  subject  in  1840.  Law  was  not  to  him  a  "calling" 
—  it  was  a  suitable  occupation  for  a  man  of  literary  tastes, 
and  of  insufficient  income  to  gratify  them.  The  same  rea 
son,  as  we  have  seen,  sent  Irving  to  the  law,  and  Lowell 
made  as  great  a  success  as  did  his  predecessor  — there  is  no 
record  of  his  having  a  first  client.  The  leisure  that  came 
to  him  while  awaiting  professional  business  he  used  in  verse 
making,  an  occasional  occupation  of  his  college  days. 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


202  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

First  Poems.  —  Lowell's  formal  entrance  into  literature 
came  with  the  publication,  in  1841,  of  A  Year's  Life,  a  col 
lection  of  thirty-five  sonnets  and  thirty-two  other  poems, 
many  of  which  had '  appeared  in  various  newspapers  and 
magazines.  Very  few  of  them  were  subsequently  reprinted 
by  the  author ;  and  it  is  probable  that  most  of  them  would 
never  have  been  collected  at  all  if  they  had  had  to  await 
his  inclination.  The  inspirer  of  the  volume  was  Maria 
White,  sister  of  a  classmate  of  the  poet.  Lowell  became 
acquainted  with  her  late  in  1839,  and  became  engaged  to 
her  about  a  year  after.  "I  shall  print  my  volume,"  he 
writes  to  a  friend  in  November,  1840.  "  Maria  wishes  me 
to  do  it,  and  that  is  enough."  She  was  a  remarkably  strong 
character ;  and  though  she  lived  before  women  generally 
took  part  in  public  movements,  she  was  active  in  the  causes 
of  temperance  and  abolition.  A  Year's  Life  is  hardly  more 
than  a  series  of  portraits  of  her  and  a  record  of  the  growth 
of  the  poet's  devotion  to  her;  but  at  least  one  poem  not 
belonging  in  these  fields  is  notable  —  the  Ode,  beginning 

"  In  the  old  days  of  awe  and  keen-eyed  wonder." 

The  high  conception  of  a  poet's  equipment  and  mission  set 
forth  here  will  bear  comparison  with  those  of  Bryant  and 
Longfellow  among  our  own  writers,  and  with  those  of 
Tennyson,  Browning,  and  others  of  Britain's  great  names. 

Lowell  married  Miss  White  in  December,  1844.  He  had 
110  assured  income  and  she  had  no  dowry ;  but  they  wanted 
neither  of  these  things  —  preferred  to  be  "  apostles  of  pov 
erty."  During  the  winter,  which  was  spent  in  Philadelphia 
among  Quakers  and  abolitionists,  Lowell  joined  himself  to 
the  abolition  cause ;  and  he  continued  active  in  it  until  the 
country  was  divided,  and,  after  four  years  of  conflict,  re 
united. 


FIRST  POEMS  203 


FACSIMILE  or  A  LOWELL  LETTER. 
Interesting  for  its  contents  as  well  as  for  the  excellent  handwriting. 


204  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

First  Great  Works.  —  The  following  summer  found  the 
Lowells  back  at  Elmwood,  the  family  home  in  Cambridge, 
where  they  remained  six  years.  During  this  period  Lowell 
published  A  Fable  for  Critics,  The  Biglow  Papers,  and  The 
Vision  of  Sir  Launfal,  of  which  the  first  two  made  manifest 
his  strength  as  critic  and  humorist,  and  the  last  showed 
not  a  little  power  in  the  higher  realms  of  poetry.  The 
Fable  is  a  satire  on  American  authors,  giving  keen  but  never 
biting  characterizations  of  leading  writers  of  the  day.  Foe 
is  said  to  be 

"Three-fifths  of  him  genius,  and  two-fifths  sheer  fudge." 
Of  Whittier  we  read : 

"And  his  failures  arise  (though  he  seems  not  to  know  it) 
From  the  very  same  cause  that  has  made  him  a  poet,  — 
A  fervor  of  mind  which  knows  no  separation 

.  'Twixt  simple  excitement  and  pure  inspiration." 

He  hits  off  himself  quite  as  readily  and  as  fairly  as  any 
other  : 

"  There's  Lowell,  who's  striving  Parnassus  to  climb 
With  a  whole  bale  of  isms  tied  together  with  rhyme." 

The  Biglow  Papers,  written  in  opposition  to  the  Mexican 
War,  which  Lowell  believed  was  undertaken  solely  to  aid 
in  the  extension  of  slavery,  is  a  series  of  poems  in  Yankee 
dialect,  purporting  to  be  by  Hosea  Biglow,  an  uneducated 
rustic  and  "a  detestable  speller."  Of  the  Vision  of  Sir 
Launfal  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  speak,  since  it  is  universally 
known  and  admired. 

Visit  to  Europe.  —  In  1851  the  Lowells  went  to  Europe  for 
a  holiday,  which  lasted  fifteen  months.  When  Longfellow 
resigned  his  chair  at  Harvard  in  1855,  Lowell  was  chosen 
for  the  position,  and  again  went  to  Europe,  this  time  for 
serious  study.  On  receiving  the  appointment  he  wrote  to  a 


EDITORIAL  WORK  205 

friend :  "  My  first  thought  was  a  sad  one,  for  the  heart  that 
would  have  beat  warmest  is  still."  The  still  heart  was  that 
of  Mrs.  Lowell,  who  had  died  in  October,  1853,  making  the 
fourth  death  in  his  family  in  six  years  —  three  of  his  four 
children  having  preceded  their  mother.  Naturally  of  a 
buoyant  disposition,  Lowell  did  not  brood  long  over  these 
losses,  deeply  as  he  felt  them ;  and  his  year  abroad  was 
most  successful,  socially  as  well  as  scholastically. 

Successor  to  Longfellow.  —  Returning  to  America,  he  took 
up  his  work  at  Harvard,  delivering  "two  courses  of  lectures 
in  a  year  —  on  pretty  much  any  subject  I  choose."  The 
subject  on  which  he  chose  to  exert  himself  most  and  for 
which  he  is  chiefly  remembered  in  the  University,  is  Dante. 
His  teaching  seems  to  have  been  almost  ridiculously  in 
formal,  frequently  dealing  with  "  things  in  general,"  while 
he  walked  up  and  down  before  his  class  "  looking  at  nothing 
in  particular."  The  key  to  his  attitude  toward  all  literature, 
and  the  secret  of  the  inspiration  he  conveyed  to  the  thought 
ful  among  his  students,  may  be  found  in  his  essay  on  Don 
Quixote,  the  Spanish  masterpiece: 

"  He  reads  most  wisely  who  thinks  everything  into  a  book  that 
it  is  capable  of  holding,  and  it  is  the  stamp  and  token  of  a  great 
book  so  to  incorporate  itself  with  our  own  being,  so  to  quicken  our 
insight  and  stimulate  our  thought,  as  to  make  us  feel  as  if  we 
helped  to  create  it  while  we  read.  Whatever  we  can  find  in  a 
book  that  aids  us  in  the  conduct  of  life,  or  to  a  truer  interpretation 
of  it,  or  to  a  franker  reconcilement  with  it,  we  may  with  a  good 
conscience  believe  is  not  there  by  accident,  but  that  the  author 
meant  that  we  should  find  it  there." 

With  a  single  year's  intermission,  he  taught  at  Harvard 
for  twenty  years. 

Editorial  Work. — Two  events  of  importance  in  Lowell's 
life  must  be  recorded  for  1857,  the  second  year  of  his 
teaching  —  his  marriage  with  Miss  Frances  Dunlap,  who 


206 


AMERICAN    LITERATURE 


i 


ATLANTIC  MONTHLY, 


had  for  several  years  been  governess  to  his  little  girl,  and 
his  selection  as  first  editor  in-chief  of  the  Atlantic  Monthly. 
The  editorship  he  held  for  four  years  along  with  his  pro 
fessorship,  a  combina 
tion  which  was  doubt 
less  of  value  as  prepa 
ration  for  future  work, 
but  which  seems  al 
most  to  have  stopped 
his  writing  of  poetry. 
His  great  success  with 
the  Atlantic  caused  him 
to  be  invited  in  1863 
to  assume  charge  of 
the  North  American 
Review,  to  which  he 
had  been  an  occasional 
contributor.  Because 
of  the  opportunity  it 
would  give  him  to  deal 
with  public  questions, 
he  accepted;  and  be- 


Devoted   to  Literature,   Ar 


COVER  OF  FIRST  VOLUME  OF  THE 
ATLANTIC  MONTHLY. 

(New  York  Public  Library.) 


cause  of  his  unwilling 
ness  to  undertake  again 
the  drudgery  of  the 
editorial  chair,  he  stip 
ulated  that  his  friend 
Charles  Eliot  Norton  should  be  "active  editor."  In  the 
Atlantic  Lowell  took  a  firm  stand  against  slaver}7 ;  he  did 
not  believe  the  Southern  states  would  secede.  When,  how 
ever,  secession  became  certain,  slavery  occupied  a  less  prom 
inent  place  in  his  thought  and  writing,  and  the  preservation 
of  the  Union  became  his  chief  object.  During  the  Recon 
struction  Period,  he  advocated  through  the  North  American 


MINISTER  TO  SPAIN  207 

Review  suffrage  for  the  negroes  and  liberal  treatment  of  the 
Confederates.  The  climax  of  Lowell's  writings  on  slavery 
and  dissension  was  reached  in  1865,  in  the  Ode  for  the  Har 
vard  Commemoration,  which  contains  one  of  the  finest  trib 
utes  to  Lincoln,  concluding, 

"  New  birth  of  our  new  soil,  the  first  American." 

In  the  summer  of  1871  Lowell  sold  enough  of  Elmwood 
to  give  him  a  comfortable  income ;  and  a  year  later  resigned 
from  Harvard  and  went  abroad  with  Mrs.  Lowell  for  two 
years.  Evidence  of  his  being  more  widely  and  favorably 
known  than  on  his  previous  trips  is  found  in  the  more  gen 
eral  reception  accorded  him,  in  England  especially.  The 
seal  of  English  national  approval  was  placed  on  him  by 
honorary  degrees  from  the  two  great  universities  —  D.  C.  L. 
from  Oxford,  in  1873,  and  LL.D.  from  Cambridge  the  fol 
lowing  year. 

Minister  to  Spain.  —  The  years  1874-1877  were  spent  in 
the  United  States,  where  he  did  a  little  teaching  and  a  little 
politics.  His  political  activity  led  to  his  appointment  as 
Minister  to  Spain,  which  he  felt  bound  to  accept,  though  he 
had  already  refused  to  go  to  Austria  or  Germany,  and  had 
"  no  desire  to  go  abroad  at  all."  Before  sailing  he  got  some 
amusement  out  of  his  fellow  townsmen,  who  acted  "as  if  I 
had  drawn  a  prize  in  a  lottery  and  was  somebody  at  last. 
...  I  dare  say  I  shall  enjoy  it  after  I  get  there,  but  at 
present  it  is  altogether  a  bore  to  be  honorabled  at  every 
turn."  The  difficulties  of  his  position  he  thus  expressed  in 
a  letter  after  he  had  been  four  months  in  Madrid :  "  Fancy 
a  shy  man,  without  experience,  suddenly  plumped  down 
among  a  lot  of  utter  strangers,  unable  to  speak  their  language 
(though  knowing  more  of  it  than  almost  any  of  them),  and 
with  a  secretary  wholly  ignorant  both  of  Spanish  and 
French."  While  he  was  often  burdened  with  the  business 


208  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

of  the  embassy,  and  bored  with  the  amount  of  ceremony  in 
official  life,  he  was  thoroughly  interested  in  studying  at 
first  hand  the  national  character,  with  which  he  was  already 
familiar  through  a  wide  knowledge  of  Spanish  literature. 

To  England.  —  Though  Lowell  found  some  of  his  duties 
distasteful,  the  life  in  Spain  became  exceedingly  pleasant, 
and  his  career  there  was  eminently  successful.  So  satis 
factory  indeed  was  he  to  his  government  that  in  January, 
1880,  after  two  and  a  half  years  in  Spain,  he  was  appointed 
Minister  to  Great  Britain,  the  highest  post  in  the  foreign 
service.  During  the  five  years  of  his  residence  in  England, 
he  handled  with  great  skill  some  difficult  diplomatic  prob 
lems,  and  greatly  increased  the  cordial  feeling  between  the 
two  countries,  which  had  not  been  without  friction  since  the 
Civil  War.  Though  he  was  well  received  everywhere,  and 
in  great  demand  for  all  sorts  of  public  appearances,  he  acted 
on  the  assumption  that  he  was  asked  as  the  representative 
of  a  great  nation,  and  not  on  personal  grounds.  Even  in 
country  homes,  where  he  was  more  frequently  a  guest  than 
any  other  American  who  ever  lived,  he  always,  says  a 
friend,  "  let  fall  some  good  American  seed." 

During  his  official  residence  in  Spain  and  England  Lowell 
wrote  very  little,  and  wrote  no  poem  or  literary  essay  which 
takes  high  rank.  The  essay  on  Democracy,  referred  to 
above,  belongs  to  his  last  year  in  England ;  but  this  is  of 
course  not  literary.  What  are  very  generally  considered 
Lowell's  most  artistic  productions  were  written  two  years 
before  his  going  to  Spain  —  the  Ode  at  the  Concord  Centen 
nial,  and  Under  the  Old  Elm.  The  first  of  these,  while  quite 
as  great  as  the  subject  demanded,  falls  short  of  the  vigor 
and  beauty  of  Emerson's  simple  ode  of  forty  years  before. 

The  second,  however,  the  occasion  of  which  was  the  hun 
dredth  anniversary  of  Washington's  taking  command  of  the 
army,  ranks  second  only  to  the  Commemoration  Ode  among 


TO  ENGLAND 


209 


THE  OLD  ELM. 

Just  off  the  Cambridge  Common,  under  which  Washington  took  command 
of  the  troops.     (See  Lowell's  poem.) 


210  AMERICAN    LITERATURE 

American  patriotic  poems.  The  author  considered  it  the 
best  of  his  memorial  poems,  "mainly  because  it  was  com 
posed  after  my  college  duties  were  over."  After  drawing 
pictures  of  Washington  and  his  army  —  "a  motley  rout"  — 
and  paying  suitable  homage  to  Washington,  he  concludes 
with  a  noble  tribute  to  the  hero's  native  state : 

"  Virginia  gave  us  this  imperial  man  ; 

***** 
She  gave  us  this  unblemished  gentleman. 
What  shall  we  give  her  back  but  love  and  praise 
As  in  the  dear  old  unestranged  days 
Before  the  inevitable  wrong  began  ?  " 

"  I  took  advantage  of  the  occasion,"  Lowell  wrote,  "  to  hold 
out  a  hand  of  kindly  reconciliation  to  Virginia." 

Lowell's  foreign  service  came  to  an  end  in  June,  1885, 
with  the  return  to  power  of  the  Democratic  party.  "  I  am 
on  the  whole  glad  to  be  rid  of  my  official  trappings,"  he 
wrote  to  one  friend ;  and  to  another :  "  I  shall  see  you 
again  in  June  —  one  of  the  greatest  favors  I  have  to  thank 
President  .Cleveland  for."  Yet  he  had  a  few  months  earlier 
expressed  his  willingness  to  stay  and  had  admitted  his 
regret  at  leaving  "certain  friendships  I  have  formed  here, 
and  the  climate."  His  recall  was  very  generally  lamented 
in  England,  and  has  been  often  taken  as  a  text  for  an  attack 
on  the  American  method  of  filling  such  positions. 

Last  Years.  —  Shortly  before  Lowell's  departure  from 
England,  Mrs.  Lowell  died.  Unwilling  to  return  then  to 
Elmwood,  he  went  to  live  with  his  daughter  at  South- 
borough,  not  far  from  Boston,  which  was  his  home  for 
four  years.  They  were  busy  years ;  for  the  poet,  diplomat, 
critic,  popular  lecturer,  essayist,  was  in  great  demand.  He 
spoke  on  matters  of  national  interest  before  many  organiza 
tions,  gave  readings  from  his  poems,  wrote  a  few  new  poems 
and  published  a  collection  of  his  old  ones,  and  undertook 


LAST  YEARS 


211 


various  literary  commissions.  The  incentive  to  work,  how 
ever,  was  gone,  and  he  had  to  beg  to  be  let  off  from  several 
promises.  He  was  very  happy  with  his  large  library  and 
his  children  and  grandchildren,  and  lived  a  quiet  life  inter 
rupted  only  by  annual  vacations  in  England,  where  he  re- 


".ELMWOOD." 
Lowell's  home  in  Cambridge. 

newed  the  old  friendships,  and   visited  the   old  familiar 
scenes. 

On  his  return  from  the  last  of  these  trips,  in  the  autumn 
of  1889,  he  found  the  Southborough  household  transferred 
to  the  old  home  in  Cambridge  —  his  only  home,  he  had  said, 
and  the  place  where  he  hoped  to  die.  During  the  following 


212  AMERICAN    LITERATURE 

winter  he  prepared  a  final  edition  of  his  writings ;  and  he 
was  naturally  proud  of  the  ten  uniform  volumes  which  soon 
afterward  graced  his  shelves.  Plans  for  other  literary  work 
were  interrupted  by  an  illness  in  the  spring  of  1890 ;  and 
from  that  time  till  his  death  eighteen  months  later  he  was 
never  a  well  man.  His  malady  caused  him  great  and  almost 
constant  pain ;  but  he  complained  little,  and  till  the  very 
end  wrote  long  letters  full  of  thankfulness  and  enlivened 
with  jests  on  his  condition.  "  My  handwriting  will  run 
down  hill.  I  suppose  because  /  am  —  in  spite  of  continued 
watchfulness  on  my  part,"  —  this  in  his  last  letter  to  his 
daughter,  written  a  few  weeks  before  death. 

Personality.  —  Lowell  is  probably  the  most  attractive 
personality  among  our  literary  men.  He  made  friends 
readily,  and  rarely  lost  one.  He  was  an  indefatigable  letter 
writer ;  and  the  publication  of  his  letters  has  very  greatly 
added  to  his  fame  —  a  rare  circumstance.  In  these  the  most 
striking  feature  is  the  humor,  which  is  present  in  some  de 
gree  in  nearly  every  letter.  In  an  early  one  he  says  :  "  I  am 
a  kind  of  twins  myself,  divided  between  grave  and  gay  " ; 
and  he  might  truthfully  have  added  that  by  far  the  greater 
part  of  him  was  in  the  "gay"  division.  Elsewhere  he 
complains  that  he  can't  "  write  anything  serious,"  which 
the  reader  need  qualify  only  by  a  "  wholly  "  before  "  serious." 
In  his  seventy-first  year  he  wrote  to  a  literary  friend : 
"  Thank  God,  I  am  as  young  as  ever.  There  is  an  exhaust- 
less  fund  of  inexperience  somewhere  about  me."  Of  his 
fondness  for  punning,  which  comes  out  in  almost  every 
letter,  the  following,  written  when  he  was  starting  fcr  Europe 
in  1851,  is  typical.  "We  are  going  to  traVel  on  our  own 
land.  That  is,  we  shall  spend  at  the  rate  of  about  ten  acres 
a  year,  selling  our  birthrights  as  we  go  along  for  messes  of 
European  pottage.  Well,  Raphael  and  the  rest  of  them  are 
worth  it.  My  plan  is  to  sit  down  in  Florence  —  till  I  have 


LOWELL  THE  ESSAYIST  213 

cut  my  eye(talian)  teeth.     Tuscany  must  be  a  good  place 
for  that." 

Lowell  the  Essayist.  —  Now,  charming  as  this  tone  is  in 
personal  letters  and  in  some  kinds  of  literature,  there  are 
places  where  it  seems  inappropriate.  In  a  serious  essay  on 
Keats,  for  example  —  which,  by  the  way,  contains  some 
magnificent  paragraphs  —  it  is  a  bit  jarring  to  be  held  up 
suddenly  by :  "A  biographer  is  hardly  called  upon  to  show 
how  ill  his  biographee  could  do  anything."  (Italics  are 
Lowell's;  he  probably  thought  the  word  was  of  his  own 
coining.)  The  reader  often  resents  the  intrusion  of  the 
humorous  in  such  places  —  it  suggests  bad  taste.  Yet,  after 
thoughtful  reading  of  a  number  of  Lowell's  purely  literary 
essays  one  comes  to  apply  to  him  a  remark  he  makes  in  a 
study  of  Carlyle :  "  Keal  fame  depends  rather  on  the  sum 
of  an  author's  powers  than  on  any  brilliancy  of  special  parts." 
The  English  must  have  formed  their  judgment  of  him  on 
somewhat  the  same  basis;  for  honors  were  given  him  by 
them  that  would  surely  not  have  been  given  either  to  the 
diplomat  or  to  the  mere  humorist.  During  his  term  as 
Minister  to  England  he  was  elected  Rector  of  the  University 
of  Saint  Andrews,  President  of  the  Wordsworth  Society, 
and  Professor  of  English  at  Oxford. 

Discussion  has  often  been  indulged  in  whether  Lowell 
would  have  done  work  of  a  higher  grade  if  he  had  limited 
himself  to  fewer  fields.  Had  he  so  limited  himself,  he 
would  have  been  of  less  consequence  to  us,  no  matter  what 
rank  he  reached.  His  breadth,  versatility,  almost  contra 
dictious  variety  of  gifts,  made  him  one  of  the  greatest  figures 
in  our  national  literature  and  life. 


214 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


SIDNEY  LANIER,   1842-1881 

Sidney  Larder's  short  life  was  a  struggle  with  adverse 
circumstances  —  war,  poverty,  ill  health.  What  he  might 
have  accomplished  with  such  opportunities  and  environment 

, ,     as      Longfellow      and 

Lowell  had,  can  only  be 
conjectured.  What  he 
did  accomplish  shows 
him  to  be  of  heroic 
mold,  a  really  great 
soul.  Twelve  or  fif 
teen  poems  taking 
place  beside  the  best 
in  our  literature,  and 
many  others  just  fall 
ing  short  of  these ;  a 
few  essays  showing 
thorough  and  appreci 
ative  study  of  early 
English  writers ;  a 
study  of  the  technique 
of  verse,  which,  though 
resting  on  a  probably 
erroneous  theory,  is 
admitted  to  be  the  best 
work  yet  written  in 
the  field,  —  all  this  he 
accomplished  in  a  space 
of  somewhat  less  then  ten  years,1  during  which  he  was  in 
terrupted  by  frequent  illnesses,  and  forced  to  play  in  an 
orchestra  to  support  his  family. 


KEYSER  BUST  OF  LANIER. 
In  the  Johns  Hopkins  University. 


1  Lanier's  literary  working  life  is  properly  dated   from  his  move  to 
Baltimore  in  1873. 


ANCESTRY,  AND  EARLY  LIFE  215 

A  Genuinely  American  Poet.  —  Though  Lanier's  prose  has 
considerable  merit,  his  poetry  is  of  a  far  higher  order,  and 
it  is  as  poet  that  he  seems  likely  to  hold  permanently  a  high 
place.  Many  critics  have  emphasized  the  distinctly  Southern 
character  of  his  poetry,  some  going  so  far  as  to  assert  that 
only  in  the  South  could  his  work  have  been  produced. 
Certainly  by  temperament  as  well  as  by  the  accident  of 
birth  Lanier  is  Southern  ;  and  his  nature  poems,  upon  which 
much  of  his  fame  will  rest,  give  faithful  pictures  of  Southern 
scenes.  His  exquisite  ballad,  however,  The  Revenge  of 
Hamish,  showing  the  penalty  for  human  tyranny  over  a 
fellow  being ;  that  unique  composition,  The  Symphony,  set 
ting  forth  the  need  of  relief  from  the  tyranny  of  the  com 
mercial  spirit  in  American  life ;  and  a  number  of  short 
lyrics  on  divers  themes  —  such,  for  example,  as  The  Stirrup- 
Cup,  expressing  readiness  for  death  whenever  it  may  come  : 
—  these  all  exhibit  a  man  too  large  to  be  the  spokesman  of 
any  section  or  time.  Lanier  will  be  found  on  examination 
to  be  thoroughly  American  in  the  broadest  sense. 

Ancestry,  and  Early  Life.  —  He  was  the  eldest  of  three 
children.  On  his  father's  side  he  was  of  Huguenot  extrac 
tion,  though  the  earliest  ancestor  to  be  traced  was  attached 
to  the  court  of  the  English  Elizabeth.  On  his  mother's 
side  he  was  Scotch-Irish.  The  Laniers  were  settled  near 
Richmond,  Virginia,  soon  after  1700 ;  the  branch  of  the 
family  from  which  Sidney  was  descended  emigrated  to 
North  Carolina  and  later  to  Georgia.  In  the  city  of  Macon, 
February  3,  1842,  the  poet  was  born. 

He  attended  private  schools  until  he  reached  the  age  of 
fourteen,  when  he  entered  Oglethorpe  College  in  the  sopho 
more  class.  The  notable  facts  of  his  early  life  are  his 
affection  for  his  brother  Clifford,  and  his  musical  talent. 
Music  and  Poetry  is  the  title  of  a  volume  of  his  essays ;  and 
to  the  two  arts  in  the  title  he  may  be  said  to  have  conse- 


216  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

crated  his  life.  The  musical  gift  was  an  inherited  one  — 
even  when  a  boy  he  could  play  any  instrument  he  tried. 
His  favorite  was  the  violin ;  but  so  wearing  was  it  on  his 
sensitive  nature  that,  yielding  to  his  father's  request,  he  gave 
it  up,  and  devoted  himself  to  the  flute.  Without  instruction 
he  mastered  this  instrument,  and  later  attained  great  dis- 


OGLETHORPE  UNIVERSITY. 

Lanier's  Alma  Mater,  which  did  not  survive  the  war.      A  new  institution 
bearing  this  name,  and  to  have  a  "  Lanier  Professorship  of  English  Litera 
ture,"  is  in  course  of  erection  (1915)  near  Atlanta,  Ga. 

tinction  as  first  flutist  in  the  Peabody  Orchestra  of  Balti 
more. 

The  War  Period.  -*-  Immediately  on  graduation  from  college 
with  first  honors,  he  received  an  appointment  as  tutor, 
which  position  he  held  for  nearly  a  year,  resigning  to  enlist 
in  the  Confederate  army  in  April,  1861.  He  went  through 
the  war  as  a  private,  declining  several  offers  of  promotion 
because  he  was  unwilling  to  be  separated  from  his  brother. 
About  a  year  before  the  war  closed,  however,  the  two  were 


WANDERINGS 


217 


separated  by  being  detailed  each  as  a  signal  officer  on  board 
a  blockade  runner.     While  in  this  service  Sidney  was  cap 
tured,  and  imprisoned  for  five  months.     During  the  war  the 
first  signs  of  con.su  mp-          _^___^__^______^_ 

tion  appeared ;  and  the 
poet  attributed  the  de 
velopment  and  fatal 
outcome  of  the  disease 
to  confinement  in  the 
wretched  prison  at 
Point  Lookout,  North 
Carolina.  On  release 
from  prison  in  Feb 
ruary,  1865,  he  walked 
home  to  Georgia,  where, 
as  is  not  surprising, 
he  immediately  went 
through  a  severe  illness 
of  six  weeks.  Just 
as  he  recovered,  his 
mother  died  of  the 
dread  disease. 

Wanderings.  —  Un 
able  even  to  think  of 
an  artistic  career  while 
the  public  mind  was  in 
such  a  distracted  state, 
and  when  poverty  had 
engulfed  the  Lanier 
family  as  well  as  thousands  of  others,  he  took  the  first  oc 
cupation  that  offered  —  a  clerkship  in  a  Montgomery,  Ala 
bama,  hotel  —  and  retained  it  for  something  more  than  a 
year.  In  May,  1867,  we  find  him  in  New  York  arranging 
for  the  publication  of  his  Tiger  Lilies,  a  novel  of  the  war. 


"CEDARCROFT." 

Bayard     Taylor's     home     near     Kennett 

Square,  Pa.,  where  Lanier  was  frequently 

a  guest. 


218  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

The  following  September  he  became  principal  of  a  school  in 
Prattsville,  Alabama,  and  three  months  later  married  Miss 
Mary  Day,  of  Macon.  This  proved  to  be  one  of  those  ideal 
unions  all  ,too  rare  with  geniuses ;  and  from  Lanier's  devo 
tion  to  his  wife  came  some  charming  lyrics,  best  known  of 
which  is  My  Springs. 

About  a  month  after  marriage  Lanier  is  found  again  in 
Macon,  in  a  wretched  state  of  health.  For  some  unknown 
reason  he  took  up  the  study  of  law  with  his  father,  and 
later  practiced,  remaining  in  this  connection  four  years. 
A  short  trip  to  New  York  for  treatment  was  followed  by  one 
to  San  Antonio,  Texas,  the  climate  of  which  he  thought 
might  make  it  a  suitable  home.  Disappointed  after  a  four 
months'  trial,  realizing  that  the  end  of  his  life  was  not  far 
off,  he  returned  to  Georgia,  determined  to  make  possible  the 
expression  of  himself  in  music  and  verse  which  he  had  for 
so  long  craved. 

Musician  and  Poet  Recognized.  —  In  December,  1873,  he 
began  his  musical  career  in  the  Baltimore  orchestra,  and 
fourteen  months  later  published  the  poem  which  first  at 
tracted  widespread  attention  to  his  literary  gift.  This 
poem,  called  forth  by  the  sight  of  a  broad  Georgia  landscape 
at  midsummer,  was  Corn,  in  the  first  section  of  which  occurs  a 
description  probably  never  surpassed  by  Lanier.  It  begins : 

"  To-day  the  woods  are  trembling  through  and  through 
With  shimmering  forms  that  flash  before  my  view, 
Then  melt  in  green,  as  day-stars  melt  in  blue." 

Among  the  friendships  dating  from  the  publication  of 
Corn  is  that  with  Bayard  Taylor,  the  distinguished  Pennsyl 
vania  man  of  letters,  who  procured  for  Lanier  appointment 
to  write  a  cantata  for  the  Philadelphia  Centennial  of  1876. 
Taylor  and  his  beautiful  home,  "  Cedarcroft,"  near  Kennett 
Square,  figure  largely  in  the  poet's  life. 


THE  END  219 

"There,  O  my  Friend,  beneath  the  chestnut  bough, 
Gazing  on  thee  immerged  in  modern  strife, 
I  framed  a  prayer  of  fervency  —  that  thou, 

"  In  soul  and  stature  larger  than  thy  kind, 

Still  more  to  this  strong  Form  might'st  liken  thee, 
Till  thy  whole  Self  in  every  fibre  find 

The  tranquil  lordship  of  thy  chestnut  tree." 

The  years  remaining  to  Lanier  were  spent  in  a  vain 
search  for  a  climate  in  which  he  might  live  without  suffer 
ing.  West  Chester  and  Chadd's  Ford,  Pennsylvania  (both 
near  Philadelphia) ;  Tampa,  Florida ;  the  mountains  of 
North  Carolina;  Brunswick,  on  the  coast  of  Georgia,  —  all 
these  he  tried  without  lasting  benefit,  returning  to  Balti 
more  for  long  periods  of  orchestra  work.  Usually  his  de 
voted  wife,  and  not  infrequently  his  father  and  brother, 
accompanied  him  on  these  fruitless  travels,  and  exerted 
themselves  to  lighten  both  his  physical  and  his  mental  pain. 

Study  and  Teaching.  —  One  real  delight  of  Lanier's 
last  years  was  study,  particularly  of  the  older  English 
writers,  made  possible  by  his  nearness  to  the  Peabody 
Library  in  Baltimore.  He  had  been,  as  we  have  seen,  a 
faithful  student  in  college ;  and  he  had  hoped  to  continue 
his  studies  abroad.  War  and  disease,  however,  having 
destroyed  such  a  hope,  he  eagerly  seized  the  opportunity 
now  offered.  In  response  to  invitation  he  delivered  a 
series  of  lectures  on  Elizabethan  poetry  to  a  private  class 
of  ladies  in  the  spring  of  1878.  Following  this  came  a 
series  on  Shakespeare  in  Peabody  Institute ;  and  in  1879— 
1881  he  was  lecturer  on  English  literature  in  the  Johns 
Hopkins  University.  These  lectures  were  published  with 
the  titles :  The  Science  of  English  Verse,  The  English  Novel, 
and  Shakspere  and  his  Forerunners. 

The  End.  —  During  the  second  year  of  his  lecturing  at  the 
University  it  was  plain  that  death  could  not  be  held  off  much 


220  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

longer.  We  are  told  that  oftentimes  the  students  wondered 
whether  the  speaker's  breath  would  last  through  the  hour. 
Soon  after  the  close  of  his  course  Lanier  was  advised  to  try, 
as  a  last  resort,  outdoor  life  in  a  high  altitude.  Accordingly, 


FACSIMILE  OF  CONCLUDING  LINES  OF  LANIER'S  Commemoration  Ode. 

For  the  Johns  Hopkins  University's  fourth  anniversary.    Lanier  changed 
the  first  line  above  to 

"  Bring  Faith  that  sees  with  unassembling  eyes," 
and  the  last  line  to 

"  The  world  has  bloomed  again,  at  Baltimore!" 
(MS.  reproduced  by  courtesy  of  the  Trustees  of  the  University.) 

in  the  spring  of  1881,  accompanied  by  his  wife,  he  camped 
in  the  vicinity  of  Asheville,  North  Carolina,  where  he  died 
in  September.  Mrs.  Lanier's  oft-quoted  account  of  this  long- 
expected  event  must  be  quoted  once  more : 

"  We  are  left  alone  with  one  another.  On  the  last  night  of  the 
summer  comes  a  change.  His  love  and  immortal  will  hold  off  the 
destroyer  of  our  summer  one  more  week,  until  the  forenoon  of 
September  7,  and  then  falls  the  frost,  and  that  unfaltering  will 
renders  its  supreme  submission  to  the  adored  will  of  God." 


"THE  SYMPHONY"  221 

A  True  Artist.  — "  Whatever  turn  I  have  for  art,"  wrote 
Lanier  in  May,  1873,  "  is  purely  musical ;  poetry  being  with 
me  a  mere  tangent  into  which  I  shoot  sometimes."  This 
may  have  been  true  at  the  time  it  was  written ;  but  before 
long  a  change  came.  Six  mouths  later  he  wrote  to  Mrs. 
Lanier  as  one  reason  for  accepting  the  position  in  the 
orchestra :  "  It  will  give  me  a  foothold,  which  I  can  likely 
step  from  to  something  better, — for  the  Peabody  is  a  literary 
as  well  as  a  musical  institution."  It  has  been  implied 
above  that  the  two  arts  shared  almost  equally  his  devotion. 
While,  however,  he  wrote  for  the  flute  some  compositions 
which  attracted  attention,  he  lacked  in  music  the  creative 
power  which  he  possessed  in  literature. 

His  musical  talent,  nevertheless,  contributed  much  to  his 
poetic  success.  In  that  field  of  poetry  called  the  "  onomato- 
poetic  "  Lanier  takes  a  high  place,  with  a  number  of  poems 
in  which  sound  and  movement  have  helped  much  to  bring 
out  and  enforce  the  meaning.  Of  this  class  the  best  known 
is  the  Song  of  the  Chattahoochee,  with  its  haunting  "hills  of 
Habersham  "  and  "  valleys  of  Hall."  More  wonderful  than 
any  other  poem  of  this  class,  however,  is  TJie  Symphony, 
which  by  many  is  considered  the  author's  masterpiece. 

"  The  Symphony."  —  In  this  poem,  says  Lanier,  "  I  per 
sonify  each  instrument  in  the  orchestra,  and  make  them  dis 
cuss  various  deep  social  questions  of  the  times,  in  the 
progress  of  the  music.  It  is  now  nearly  finished;  and  I 
shall  be  rejoiced  thereat,  for  it  verily  racks  all  the  bones  of 
my  spirit."  The  theme  of  the  poem  is  given  in  the  first  two 
lines : 

"0  Trade  !    0  Trade  I   would  thou  wert  dead  ! 
The  time  needs  heart  —  'tis  tired  of  head." 

That  is,  the  time  needs  love  to  take  the  place  of  the  avari 
cious  spirit  of  commercial  life.     These  opening  lines  begin 


222 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


the  outcry  of  the  violins,  which  speak  for  the  poor.  Next 
comes  (felicitous  combination)  the  flute,  speaking  for  the 
voices  of  nature,  her  "  utmost  depths  and  heights."  Then 
follow  the  clarinet,  representing  the  Lady  who  longs  for  the 


LIBRARY  AT  CEDARCROFT. 

restoration  of  love  as  the  only  ground  for  marriage;  the 
horn,  representing  the  knight  of  the  days  of  chivalry,  who 
believes  that  the  Lady's  wish  will  be  granted ;  the  hautboy, 
calling  for  the  simplicity  and  purity  of  childhood.  The 
harmony  is  completed  by  the  "  ancient,  wise  bassoons,"  and 
we  hear  the  voices  together  sing  that  only  love  can  "  solve 
the  discords  true." 

Lanier  the  man,  Lanier  the  musician,  Lanier  the  poet  — 
the  three  are  almost  equally  inspiring  studies;  and  they 
can  scarcely  be  studied  separately.  The  concluding  lines  of 


HENRY  WOODFIN  GRADY 


223 


his  Life  and  Song  express  an  ideal  which,  he  himself  closely 
approached,  if  he  did  not  actually  reach : 

"  His  song  was  only  living  aloud, 

His  work,  a  singing  with  his  hand  1 " 


HENRY   WOODFIN   GRADY,    1850-1889 

A  Tragically  Short  Life. — The  lives  of  three  Southern 
writers  treated  in  these  pages  were  tragic  in  their  shortness. 
Lanier's  had  another 
element  of  tragedy  — 
the  long  struggle  with 
incurable  disease; 
Poe's  had  several  other 
elements  —  a  tempera 
mental  unfitness  to 
look  out  for  himself, 
an  extreme  sensitive 
ness  to  criticism,  a 
weakness  for  drink. 
The  life  of  the  writer 
whom  we  are  now  to 
study  was  tragic  only 
in  its  early  ending. 
On  the  day  of  Grady's 
death,  in  an  address 
before  the  New  Eng-  HENRY  WoODFIN  GBADY> 

land    Society    of    New  "Journalist,  Orator,  Patriot." 

York,     Chauncey     M. 

Depew  said:  "His  death  in  the  meridian  of  his  powers  and 
the  hopefulness  of  his  mission,  at  the  critical  period  of  the 
removal  forever  of  all  misunderstandings  and  differences  be 
tween  all  sections  of  the  republic,  is  a  national  calamity." 
Three  years  earlier,  at  the  annual  meeting  of  the  same 


224  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

society,  Grady  had  delivered  a  noteworthy  address  on  The 
New  South.  His  life,  indeed,  was  devoted  to  the  upbuilding 
of  his  native  section,  and  to  the  interpretation  of  it  to  the 
North.  The  new  South,  said  he,  "  is  enamored  of  her  work. 
Her  soul  is  stirred  with  the  breath  of  a  new  life."  But 
"  she  believes  that  the  late  struggle  .  .  .  was  war  and  not 
rebellion ;  .  .  .  and  that  her  convictions  were  as  honest  as 
yours.  .  .  .  The  South  has  nothing  to  take  back." 

Henry  Woodfin  Grady  was  born  in  Athens,  Georgia, 
May  24,  1850.1  His  father,  William  Grady,  was  an  Irish 
man  who  settled  in  North  Carolina,  made  money,  moved  to 
Georgia,  and  married  a  Georgia  woman  of  good  family  and 
strong  character,  Miss  Ann  E.  Gartrell.  Henry  was  not  a 
hard  student  either  at  school  or  college ;  but  he  read  exten 
sively  always,  and  as  a  boy  took  great  interest  in  athletics. 
When  he  was  ten  years  old  the  war  came.  William  Grady 
entered  as  captain  of  cavalry,  was  promoted  to  a  colonelcy, 
and  was  killed  at  Petersburg  in  1864.  The  story  of  his 
widow's  successful  effort  to  raise  three  children  in  the 
troubled  days  of  Reconstruction  is  that  of  thousands  of 
Southern  homes. 

*  Journalistic  Career.  —  Grady  was  graduated  from  the  Uni 
versity  of  Georgia  in  1868,  and  from  the  University  of 
Virginia  two  years  later.  Before  leaving  the  Virginia  insti 
tution  he  was  distinguished  as  an  orator,  and  by  a  clever 
letter  to  an  Atlanta  paper  had  discovered  his  calling  — 
journalism.  For  ten  years  he  had  a  checkered  career.  From 
the  university  he  went  to  Atlanta,  but  after  a  few  months 
moved  to  Rome,  Georgia,  as  editor  of  the  Courier.  A  dis 
agreement  with  the  proprietor  led  to  Grady's  purchasing 
and  combining  the  city's  other  two  papers,  the  Daily  and 

1  The  author  has  found  no  less  than  six  different  dates  in  print  for 
Grady's  birth.  That  given  above  is  taken  from  the  monument  in  Atlanta. 


ORATORICAL  CAREER 


225 


the  Commercial.  He  was  very  irregular  in  his  editorial 
labors,  and  the  paper  failed.  Returning  to  Atlanta,  Grady 
and  two  associates  founded  the  Herald.  Too  vigorous  busi 
ness  rivalry  brought  about  the  failure  of  this  paper  also, 
whereupon  Grady  became  correspondent  of  the  New  York 
Herald,  and  soon  began  to  contribute  regularly  to  the  Atlanta 
Constitution.  In  1880  he  purchased  a  large  interest  in  the 
last-named  paper,  be 
came  its  managing 
editor,  and  for  the 
remainder  of  his  life 
devoted  himself  to  im 
proving  the  paper  and 
extending  its  useful 
ness.  He  died  Decem 
ber  23,  1889,  of  pneu 
monia,  developed  from 
a  cold  contracted  while 
speaking  in  Boston. 

Oratorical  Career.  — 
Grady 's  complete 
"  works "  consist  of 
eight  orations  deliv 
ered  in  the  last  three 
years  of  his  life  before 
varied  audiences  from 
Dallas,  Texas,  to  Bos 
ton.  Of  these  one  is 
concerned  with  prohi 
bition,  one  with  a  problem  of  government,  one  with  a  national 
economic  problem;  the  remaining  five  with  distinctively 
Southern  problems.  Before  the  literary  societies  of  his 
Alma  Mater  he  spoke  of  his  life  as  "  busy  beyond  its  capac 
ities."  Had  the  case  been  different,  or  had  that  busy  life 


GRADY  MONUMENT,  ATLANTA. 

Unveiled  October  21,  1891.    The  cost  (over 
$  20,000)  was  contributed  from  all  parts  of 
the  country. 


226  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

been  spared  longer,  we  should  have  a  larger  amount  of  writ 
ing  as  a  basis  for  placing  him  in  a  history  of  our  literature. 
His  style  is  what  is  generally  called  "highly  colored," 
which  means  marked  by  an  overabundance  of  figurative, 
imaginative  language.  Its  most  striking  quality,  however, 
is  the  native  wit,  which  always  flows  freely  and  which  con 
tributes  much  to  the  effectiveness  of  the  orator's  efforts. 
So  impressed,  however,  was  the  speaker  with  the  matter  of 
his  addresses,  and  so  impressive  did  he  make  it  to  his  audi 
ences  that  they  gave  little  thought  to  the  manner  of  them. 
He  found  it  difficult,  he  said,  addressing  the  Boston  Mer 
chants'  Association,  to  "discuss  the  problem  of  the  races 
in  the  home  of  [Wendell]  Phillips  and  [Charles]  Sumner. 
But,"  he  continued,  "  if  a  purpose  to  speak  in  perfect  frank 
ness  and  sincerity ;  if  earnest  understanding  of  the  vast  in 
terests  involved ;  if  a  consecrating  sense  of  what  disaster 
may  follow  further  misunderstanding  and  estrangement,  if 
these  may  be  counted  to  steady  undisciplined  speech  and  to 
strengthen  an  untried  arm  —  then,  sir,  I  find  the  courage 
to  proceed."  It  was  by  this  attitude  and  tone  that,  accord 
ing  to  Depew,  Grady  "commanded  the  attention  of  the 
country  and  won  universal  fame." 

A  Union  veteran's  widow,  after  reading  Grady 's  speeches 
on  Southern  problems,  remarked  with  feeling  that  the  taking 
away  of  such  a  character  in  his  prime  was  a  dispensation  of 
Providence  hard  to  understand.  Henry  Watterson,  the  dis 
tinguished  editor  and  publicist,  had  no  such  difficulty.  In 
an  oration  on  Grady,  he  said :  "  Short  as  his  life  was,  its 
heaven-born  mission  was  fulfilled;  the  dream  of  his  child 
hood  was  realized;  for  he  had  been  appointed  by  God  to 
carry  a  message  of  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men,  and, 
this  done,  he  vanished  from  the  sight  of  mortal  eyes,  even 
as  the  dove  from  the  ark." 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS  227 

GEORGE   WILLIAM  CURTIS,    1824-1892 

An  Influential  Figure.  —  The  importance  of  George  William 
Curtis  in  our  literature  is  due  rather  to  his  influence  than 
to  his  visible  accomplishment.  That  influence,  moreover, 
was  exerted  by  deliberate  choice  in  the  field  of  morals  much 
more  than  in  the  field  of  pure  literature.  Literature  as  an 
end  in  itself  was  nothing  to  him.  His  strength  was  in 
appreciation  rather  than  in  creation  or  in  scientific  criti 
cism  ;  and  he  appreciated  nothing  that  did  not  in  some  way 
contribute  to  the  upbuilding  of  humanity.  From  his  first 
"Easy  Chair"  essays  in  Harper's  Magazine  in  1853  to  his 
death  thirty-nine  years  later  the  wish  nearest  his  heart  was 
the  betterment  of  his  country;  and  the  slight  present-day 
interest  in  his  writings  is  largely  due  to  his  having  con 
cerned  himself  with  current  needs.  More  than  one  eminent 
critic  of  to-day,  however,  ranks  Curtis's  essays  only  a  little 
below  Lowell's. 

George  William  Curtis  was  born  in  Providence,  Rhode 
Island,  February  24,  1824.  The  first  American  Curtis  ar 
rived  in  1635,  and  settled  in  Watertown,  Massachusetts ; 
and  the  family  continued  in  that  vicinrty  till  George 
William's  father  moved  to  the  adjoining  state.  His  mother 
died  when  he  was  only  two  years  old ;  but  his  father's 
second  wife,  who  came  into  the  home  nine  years  afterward, 
was  as  devoted  to  him  as  a  mother  could  be.  A  strong  in 
fluence  upon  the  boy,  which  continued  till  he  was  well  on 
into  manhood,  was  that  of  his  elder  brother  Burrill.  The 
two  attended  school  at  Jamaica  Plain  (then  a  suburb  of 
Boston)  and  at  Providence  until  George  was  fifteen  years 
old;  following  which,  upon  his  father's  removal  to  New 
York  City,  came  three  years  of  private  tutors.  Then,  in 
stead  of  going  to  college,  the  two  boys  became  "boarders 
and  boarders  only "  at  Brook  Farm,  the  socialistic  com- 


228 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


munity  spoken  of  above.1  Here  they  came  in  contact  with 
the  great  minds  of  that  establishment,  and  must  have  been 
influenced  by  it,  though  Curtis's  biographer,  Edward  Gary, 
is  inclined  to  think  this  influence  usually  overestimated. 

Interest  in  Public  Affairs.  —  His  letters  from  New  England 
to  his  father  furnish  striking  evidence  of  his  early  interest 

in  public  affairs,  of  his 
firm  stand  for  a  higher 
citizenship,  and  of  his 
foresight.  He  foresaw 
—  and  this  was  in 
1845,  when  he  was 
barely  twenty-one  — 
that  the  nation  would  be 
divided  by  the  slavery 
question;  though  six 
teen  years  later, 
Lincoln,  at  the  age  of 
fifty-two,  believed  dis 
union  could  be  pre 
vented.  In  one  letter 
he  expresses  to  his  pro 
tectionist  father  strong 
disapproval  of  a  pro 
tective  tariff,  but  on 
grounds  very  different 
from  those  on  which 
disapproval  to-day  is 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 


based.  "  I  have  no  right  to  protect  American  labor  at  the 
expense  of  foreign.  ...  I  see  no  necessity  that  American 
manufacturers  should  flourish  if  they  cannot  do  so  without 
thrusting  our  neighbor  out  of  the  market." 

The  winter  of  1845-1846  Curtis  spent  at  his  home  in  New 

' 1  See  page  160. 


THE  POLITICIAN  229 

York,  and  in  the  August  following  sailed  for  Europe,  expect 
ing  to  travel  two  years.  He  was  gone  four  years  instead, 
spending  about  a  year  each  in  Italy,  Germany,  France,  and 
Egypt  and  Palestine.  Throughout  the  trip  he  was  what 
we  should  call  "  special  correspondent"  of  New  York 
papers,  recording  regularly  his  impressions  of  great  men 
and  movements. 

Curtis  the  Author.  —  In  the  spring  of  1851,  a  few  months 
after  his  return  from  Europe,  Curtis  published  Nile  Notes 
of  a  Howadji.  ("Howadji"  is  Arabic  for  "traveler.") 
This  book,  composed  of  transcripts  from  his  Egyptian  diary, 
marks  the  author's  entrance  into  the  field  of  literature. 
The  following  year  appeared  Howadji  in  Syria,  which 
utilized,  as  its  title  implies,  more  of  his  notes  of  travel. 
The  other  books  published  by  him  are :  Lotus-Eating,  1852, 
letters  reporting  a  tour  of  New  York  and  New  England  ? 
Potiphar  Papers,  1853,  satires  on  New  York  society ;  Prue 
and  I,  1857,  a  series  of  sketches  of  an  obscure  couple ;  and 
Trumps,  1861,  a  novel  that  failed  utterly.  The  four  last 
named  had  previously  appeared  in  New  York  papers  and 
magazines. 

The  Politician.  —  Curtis's  literary  career  was  short,  and  his 
political  career  was  begun  before  the  other  was  ended. 
From  the  position  of  "  utility  man  "  on  the  staff  of  the  New 
York  Tribune  he  passed  to  editorial  work  for  the  Harpers, 
in  whose  Magazine  in  1853  he  originated  the  department 
still  known  as  "  The  Easy  Chair."  Two  years  later,  before 
the  students  of  Wesleyan  University,  Middletown,  Connect 
icut,  Curtis  made  his  first  political  address,  on  The  Duty  of 
the  American  Scholar  to  Politics  and  the  Times,  concluding 
with  an  appeal  to  his  hearers  to  oppose  the  planting  of 
slavery  in  Kansas.  In  the  autumn  of  this  year  (1856)  a 
new  party,  called  the  Republican,  and  made  up  of  the  anti- 
slavery  elements  of  all  the  old  parties,  confronted  the 


230  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Democrats.  As  was  natural,  Curtis  joined  heartily  this  new 
party,  and  labored  throughout  the  campaign  for  its  candidate, 
John  C.  Fremont.  The  end  of  this  year  was  important  in 
Curtis's  career  for  his  marriage  to  Miss  Anna  Shaw,  daughter 
of  Francis  G.  Shaw,  of  Staten  Island.  Her  family  were 
strong  abolitionists;  and  the  connection  was  an  incentive  to 
him  to  continue  the  fight  begun  under  Fremont.  Mrs. 
Curtis  was  a  woman  of  high  ideals,  and  was  always  an  in 
spiration  to  him.  From  the  campaign  of  1856  till  the  sur 
render  at  Appomattox,  Curtis's  pen  and  voice  were  exerted 
in  behalf  of  emancipation,  the  success  of  which  he  never 
doubted. 

In  the  spring  of  1857  the  publishers  of  Putnam's  Monthly, 
in  which  Curtis  was  interested  on  the  business  side  as  well 
as  on  the  editorial,  failed.  Though  he  was  not  legally  re 
sponsible  for  a  cent  of  the  firm's  indebtedness,  he  felt 
morally  responsible  for  the  whole,  and  undertook  to  pay  it 
off.  This  required  eighteen  years,  and  the  accumulation  of  a 
fortune  that  he  would  not  have  thought  of  accumulating  for 
himself.  His  income  from  writing  he  added  to  by  entering 
the  lyceum  field,  where  he  became  immensely  popular,  shar 
ing  first  place  with  Emerson  and  Henry  Ward  Beecher. 

In  the  same  year  as  the  Putnam1  s  failure  Curtis  began  to 
write  for  Harper's  Weekly,  of  which  six  years  later  he  be 
came  editor-in-chief.  In  the  conduct  of  the  Weekly  he  had 
absolute  freedom,  which  he  used  to  advance  four  chief 
causes  —  abolition,  woman  suffrage,  civil  service  reform,  and 
independence  in  politics.  In  1871  he  saw  the  first  sign  of 
success  of  his  civil  service  labors,  when  a  commission  was 
appointed  to  recommend  changes  in  the  requirements  for 
admission  to  the  public  service.  Curtis  was  made  chairman; 
and  the  commission  worked  out  a  system  which  in  substance 
became  law  twelve  years  after.  To  his  labors  more  than 
to  any  other  influence  is  civil  service  reform  due. 


HIS  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY  231 

From  its  formation  in  1856  he  was  a  prominent  figure  in 
the  Republican  party  for  thirty  years.  He  was  a  delegate 
to  the  national  conventions  of  1860,  1864,  1876,  and  1884  ; 
to  the  New  York  state  constitutional  convention  of  1866 ; 
was  presidential  elector  in  1868  ;  nominated  for  Secretary  of 
State  in  New  York  in  1869 ;  and  received  from  President 
Hayes  in  1876  offer  of  any  foreign  mission  he  might  choose. 
The  two  honors  last  named  he  declined. 

His  Political  Philosophy.  —  Curtis,  like  Lowell,  went  to  the 
convention  of  1876  chiefly  to  oppose  the  nomination  of  James 
G.  Elaine  for  president;  and  there  is  no  doubt  that,  had 
Elaine  been  nominated,  he  would  not  have  been  supported 
by  Harper's  Weekly  and  its  editor.  About  a  year  after  this 
convention  Curtis  delivered  his  best-known  address,  The 
Public  Duty  of  Educated  Men;  and  in  it  he  took  a  vigorous 
stand  for  independence  in  politics.  As  was  the  case  with 
his  first  notable  oration  this  was  delivered  to  college  men  — 
the  graduating  class  at  Union  College.  "  A  practical  and 
active  interest  in  politics,"  said  he,  "  will  lead  you  to  party 
association  and  cooperation.  .  .  .  But  in  this  tendency,  use 
ful  in  the  state  as  the  fire  upon  the  household  hearth,  lurks, 
as  in  that  fire,  the  deadliest  peril.  .  .  .  Our  safety  lies  alone 
in  cool  self-possession.  .  .  .  The  first  object  of  concerted 
political  action  is  the  highest  welfare  of  the  country.  .  .  . 
Perfect  party  discipline  is  the  most  dangerous  weapon  of 
party  spirit,  for  it  is  the  abdication  of  the  individual  judg 
ment."  This  oration  summarizes  his  political  philosophy  ; 
and  it  was  this  philosophy  that  directed  his  whole  life. 

Curtis  was  in  constant  demand  as  orator  for  all  sorts  of 
special  occasions,  and  seldom  failed  to  respond.  Of  his 
addresses  on  purely  literary  subjects  the  memorials  on 
Bryant  (1878)  and  Lowell  (1892)  are  the  most  notable. 
Though  not  a  college  graduate  he  received  seven  honorary 
degrees  from  five  institutions  —  Brown,  Colgate,  Rochester, 


232  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Harvard,  and  Columbia;  and  two  years  before  his  death 
was  elected  Chancellor  of  the  University  of  New  York. 
His  last  public  appearance  was  a  second  delivery  of  the 
Lowell  eulogy.  In  a  few  weeks  he  became  ill;  and  after 
three  months  of  great  pain  he  died  August  31,  1892. 

Literary  Style.  —  "I  should  not  find  it  easy,"  says  How- 
ells  1  of  Curtis,  "  to  speak  of  him  as  a  man  of  letters  only, 
for  ...  he  turned  from  the  fairest  career  in  literature  to 
tread  the  thorny  path  of  politics  because  he  believed  that 
duty  led  the  way,  and  that  good  citizens  were  needed  more 
than  good  romancers."  To  this  it  may  be  added  that  his 
influence  as  a  citizen  was  in  large  measure  due  to  power 
gained  through  his  training  in  literature.  All  his  orations, 
indeed,  show  the  care  in  expression  that  is  found  in  the 
works  of  great  orators.  His  books  show,  too,  the  oratorical 
style,  with  its  "  splendid  architecture,"  « wealth  of  orna 
mentation/''  "gorgeous  colors"  —  phrases  used  by  Carl 
Schurz  in  an  appreciative  essay  on  The  Friend  of  the  Re 
public.  These  qualities,  though  in  cold  type  they  do  not 
well  stand  scrutiny,  are  just  such  as  carry  weight  in  ora 
tions  and  addresses  delivered  by  a  powerful  and  charming 
personality 

Prue  and  I  is  the  author's  one  memorable  contribution  to 
pure  literature.  It  records  the  thoughts  and  experiences  of 
an  old  bookkeeper  and  his  wife,  who  live  a  monotonous  life 
in  the  city  and  are  contented  to  live  so.  Prue  is  a  rather 
matter-of-fact  home-body,  while  "I"  is  rather  imaginative; 
and  the  variations  from  the  daily  routine  come  from  the  old 
man's  visits  to  his  "castles  in  Spain,"  and  from  his  trips  in 
the  "  Flying  Dutchman  "  and  other  mysterious  conveyances. 
"From  the  windows  of  those  castles  look  the  beautiful 
women  whom  I  have  never  seen,  whose  portraits  the  poets 

1  In  Literary  Friends  and  Acquaintance. 


LITERARY  STYLE 


233 


u^. 


FACSIMILE  OF  A  LETTER  OF  CURTIS. 
(New  York  Public  Library.) 


234  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

have  painted.  They  wait  for  me  there,  and  chiefly  the 
fair-haired  child,  lost  to  my  eyes  so  long  ago,  now  bloomed 
into  an  impossible  beauty.  The  lights  that  never  shone 
glance  at  evening  in  the  vaulted  halls  upon  banquets  that 
never  were  spread.  The  bands  I  have  never  collected  play 
all  night  long,  and  enchant  into  silence  the  brilliant  com 
pany  that  was  never  assembled.  In  the  long  summer  morn 
ings  the  children  that  I  never  had  play  in  the  gardens  that 
I  never  planted."  "If  the  chances  of  life  have  moored  me 
fast  to  a  bookkeeper's  desk,  they  have  left  all  the  lands  I 
longed  to  see  fairer  and  fresher  in  my  mind  than  they  could 
ever  be  in  ray  memory."  A  quite  uninspired  philosophy, 
one  will  say;  yet  is  it  surely  better  than  the  pessimistic 
and  discontented  philosophy  which  darkens  and  embitters 
the  lives  of  so  many  average  men.  Says  Prue's  husband  : 
"  I  keep  books  by  day,  but  by  night  books  keep  me.  They 
leave  me  to  dreams  and  reveries"  —  such  reveries  as  make 
for  a  beautiful  inner  life  even  in  sordid  surroundings.  Prue 
and  I  is  one  of  that  small  and  select  number  of  books  that 
grow  better  with  every  re-reading,  and  come  in  time  to  be 
old  friends. 


JOHN   GREENLEAF   WHITTIER,    1807-1892 

When  Lowell,  in  1857,  accepted  Skipper  Ireson's  Ride  for 
publication  in  the  Atlantic,  he  wrote  to  the  author :  "  I  shall 
not  let  you  rest  till  I  have  got  a  New  England  pastoral  out 
of  you."  Whittier  was  then  in  his  fiftieth  year,  an  age  at 
which  a  man  may  be  supposed  to  have  done  all  the  kinds  of 
work  of  which  he  is  capable ;  and  Whittier  had  then  written 
no  New  England  pastoral.  Lowell,  however,  was  keen 
enough  to  see  that  the  best  of  Whittier  the  poet  was  not  to 
be  found  in  Massachusetts  to  Virginia,  The  Christian  Slave, 
or  even  in  Ichabod;  but  rather  in  The  Merrimac,  Hampton 


A  QUAKER  FARMER 


235 


Beach,  and  TJie  Huskers.  A  thoughtful  reading  of  these  six 
poems  will  convince  any  reader  that  the  first  three  belong 
to  the  "episodical"  class,  while  the  last  three  are  closely 

associated    with    "  the     

real  object  and  aim " 
of  the  poet's  life,  and 
give  promise  of  the 
pastoral  Lowell  had  set 
his  heart  on.  Snow- 
Bound,  the  answer  to 
the  Atlantic  editor,  was 
too  long  for  use  in  the 
magazine ;  but  in  its 
pages  many  shorter 
idyls  from  the  same 
source  appeared  for  the 
first  time. 

Besides  the  episodi 
cal  poems  written  in 
behalf  of  abolition,  and 
the  poems  of  New 
England  life,  another 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIEB. 

"  The  Quaker  Laureate  of  Puritanism." 
(W.  C.  Lawton.) 


group  of  Whittier' s 
poems  are  notable  —  the  religious  poems.  The  devout 
Quaker  gave  frequent  voice  to  the  things  of  the  spirit,  and 
struck  a  responsive  chord  in  the  hearts  of  multitudes. 
Whittier  is  well  represented  in  the  hymn  books  of  every 
Christian  denomination,  though  he  was  himself  ignorant  of 
music,  and  agreed  with  his  sect  in  its  objection  to  music  in 
religious  services. 

A  Quaker  Farmer.  —  John  Greenleaf  Whittier  was  born 
December  17,  1807,  near  Haverhill,  Massachusetts,  some 
thirty  miles  from  Boston.  Almost  his  entire  life  of  eighty- 
five  years  was  spent  within  a  limited  territory  around  his 


236  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

birthplace,  though  he  traveled  a  great  deal  "  by  proxy,"  as 
he  wrote  to  Bayard  Taylor.  Whittier  came  of  substantial, 
but  not  illustrious,  stock  on  both  sides.  Most  of  his  ances 
tors  were  dissenters,  arid  many  of  them  were  Quakers,  in 
cluding  the  poet's  father  and  mother,  to  whose  faith  he 
adhered  through  life.  The  home  in  which  he  grew  up  was 
that  of  a  poor  farmer,  and  Whittier,  like  the  other  members 


WHITTIEB'S  BIRTHPLACE,  NEAR  HAVERHILL,  MASS. 

of  the  family,  had  a  share  of  the  work  assigned  to  him.  The 
life  of  this  household,  including  a  sketch  of  every  one  belong 
ing  to  it,  is  immortalized  in  the  ever  popular  pastoral  idyl, 
Snow-Bound. 

Education  and  Home  Reading.  —  Unlike  the  other  New 
England  poets,  Whittier  did  not  receive  a  college  education, 
nor  did  his  home  contain  much  of  a  library  for  him  to 
"  tumble  about "  in.  The  opportunities  afforded  by  the  dis 
trict  school  were  supplemented  by  two  half-years  in  the 


INCLINATION  TO  POLITICS  237 

Haverhill  Academy.  As  the  poet's  father  was  unable  to  pay 
any  portion  of  the  Academy  expenses,  Whittier  made  money 
for  the  first  term  by  a  winter  of  shoemaking.  A  brief  ex 
perience  of  teaching  provided  funds  to  begin  his  second  term, 
which  a  little  bookkeeping  for  a  town  merchant  enabled 
him  to  complete.  The  home  library  of  twenty-five  or  thirty 
volumes  consisted  of  the  Bible  and  the  lives  and  journals  of 
Penn,  Fox,  and  other  famous  Quakers.  The  only  other 
books  which  seem  to  have  come  in  Whittier's  way  are  Burns, 
lent  him  by  the  schoolmaster  ;  Shakespeare,  bought  secretly 
on  a  trip  to  Boston  ;  and  a  Waverley  novel,  title  unknown, 
as  is  its  source.  Burns  was  a  revelation  to  the  man  who  be 
came  the  unrivaled  interpreter  of  New  England  common 
life ;  and  Whittier's  first  reading  of  the  Scotch  poet  aroused 
an  enthusiasm  that  lasted  through  life. 

That  this  poor  farmer's  son  had  even  the  one  year  at 
Haverhill  Academy  was  due  to  a  force  outside  the  family. 
Some  verses  called  The  Exile's  Departure,  written  in  1825, 
were  sent  by  his  sister  the  next  year  to  William  Lloyd 
Garrison,  then  editor  of  a  weekly  paper  in  a  near-by  town. 
Not  only  were  the  verses  published :  the  editor  sought  the 
youthful  author,  and  urged  upon  the  family  the  necessity  of 
giving  him  a  better  education.  This  was  the  beginning  of 
the  lifelong  friendship  of  the  two  reformers  —  one  the 

"  Champion  of  those  who  groan  beneath 
Oppression's  iron  hand  "  ; 

the  other  a  man  who  stood 

"  For  reform  and  whatever  they  call  human  rights." 

Inclination  to  Politics.  —  During  the  two  years  that 
Whittier  attended  the  Academy  he  published  about  a  hun 
dred  poems,  which  were  well  received  —  rather  overpraised, 
in  fact  —  by  Garrison  and  a  few  others.  Yet  he  showed  no 
literary  ambition  —  he  inclined  to  a  political  career.  This 


238  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

inclination  had  perhaps  some  weight  in  leading  him  to 
accept  the  editorship  of  The  American  Manufacturer,  a 
Boston  weekly.  In  this  paper  he  took  a  strong  stand  for 
temperance,  the  first  reform  he  advocated ;  and  wrote  vig 
orously  in  favor  of  a  protective  tariff,  a  surprising  fact  — 
one  would  expect  to  find  him  preaching  free  trade  on 
grounds  similar  to  those  set  forth  by  George  William  Curtis. 
In  less  than  a  year  his  father's  illness  called  him  to  Haver- 
hill,  where  in  addition  to  running  the  farm  he  edited  the 
Gazette.  Soon  after  the  death  of  his  father  in  the  summer 
of  1830,  Whittier  accepted  the  editorship  of  The  New  Eng 
land  Review,  the  leading  organ  of  the  Connecticut  protec 
tionists,  to  which  he  had  contributed  while  conducting  the 
Gazette. 

After  about  a  year  and  a  half  in  Hartford,  ill  health  com 
pelled  Whittier  to  give  up  his  position  with  the  Review; 
and  he  returned  to  the  Haverhill  farm  and  his  mother. 
His  political  writing  for  various  journals  had  given  him 
some  popularity  which  seemed  to  promise  political  advance 
ment.  He  had,  moreover,  become  convinced  that  great 
poetry  was  beyond  his  power.  Shortly  after  returning  to 
Haverhill  he  wrote  to  a  literary  friend :  "  The  truth  is,  I 
love  poetry,  with  a  love  as  warm,  as  fervent,  as  sincere,  as 
any  of  the  more  gifted  worshipers  at  the  temple  of  the 
Muses.  .  .  .  But  I  feel  and  know  that 

"  '  To  other  chords  than  mine  belong 
The  breathing  of  immortal  song.'  " 

Joins  the  Abolitionists.  —  Desire  for  literary  success  gave 
way  to  desire  for  political  success,  and  this  in  turn,  and 
very  shortly,  gave  way  to  absorption  in  a  great  cause. 
Garrison,  who,  as  we  have  seen,  admired  Whittier's  early 
poems  and  urged  his  securing  a  better  education,  set  before 
the  poet  in  1833  the  needs  of  the  cause  of  abolition.  He 


JOINS  THE  ABOLITIONISTS  239 


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FACSIMILE  OF  WHITTIER  MANUSCRIPT. 

The  shaded  portions  are  due  to  the  poet's  unique  mode  of  revising  — 

writing  his  changes  on  odd  scraps  of  paper,  and  pasting  these  over  the 

portions  revised.     (New  York  Public  Library.) 


240  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

thought  it  over  and  a  few  months  later  indicated  his 
decision  by  a  pamphlet,  Justice  and  Expediency,  which  he 
published  at  his  own  expense.  From  this  time  till  the  end 
of  the  war  Whittier's  heart  and  pen  were  devoted  solely  to 
the  movement  in  behalf  of  the  black  man.  It  was  an  un 
popular  movement;  poems  supporting  it  brought  little  or 
no  remuneration  ;  and  Whittier  had  neither  time  nor  health 
to  make  the  farm  pay.  The  farm  was  sold  in  1836,  and 
with  his  mother  and  sister  he  moved  to  the  near-by  town  of 
Amesbury,  purchasing  a  cottage  which  was  their  home  for 
the  remainder  of  their  lives. 

Whittier  served  one  term  in  the  Massachusetts  legislature, 
but  was  prevented  by  poor  health  from  serving  a  second 
term  for  which  he  was  reflected.  He  continued  to  write 
antislavery  articles  for  the  Haverhill  Gazette,  and  in  person 
to  urge  the  members  of  the  legislature  to  show  sympathy 
for  the  cause.  In  March,  1838,  he  became  editor  of  The 
Pennsylvania  Freeman,  in  Philadelphia ;  but  two  months 
later  the  building  in  which  the  paper  was  published  was 
burned  by  a  mob.  Other  journals  called  for  his  services,  and 
he  was  never  idle.  Much  time  was  also  used  in  attendance 
on  conventions,  and  in  personal  interviews  with  leaders  of 
abolition  parties  and  societies  throughout  the  East. 

New  England's  "Pastoral"  Poet. —  During  all  these  busy 
years  Whittier's  income  was  very  small.  From  the  publica 
tion  of  Snow-Bound,  however,  in  the  summer  of  1865,  he  was 
enabled  to  live  in  considerable  comfort.  Mr.  Pickard  tells  us 
that  the  poet  received  $10,000  from  the  first  edition  of  this 
his  most  famous  poem.  From  this  time  also  the  character 
of  his  work  changes.  "  Up  to  a  comparatively  recent 
period,"  he  writes  in  1867,  "  my  writings  have  been  simply 
episodical,  something  apart  from  the  real  object  and  aim  of 
my  life."  Now  he  could  devote  himself  to  expression  of 
his  real  self,  undisturbed  by  agitation  outside  of  that  self. 


LAST  YEARS 


241 


As  a  result  we  have  a  series  of  well-nigh  perfect  pictures  of 
humble  life  in  New  England,  and  a  series  of  noble  outpour 
ings  of  his  profoundly  religious  character. 

Last  Years.  —  The  change  in  reputation  and  fortune  did 
not  make  him  unqualifiedly  happy;  for  the  mother  and 
sister  who  would  have  taken  such  pride  in  his  success  had 
passed  away  — the  former  in  1857,  the  latter  in  1864.  For 


WHITTIER'S  HOME  AT  AMESBURY. 

the  next  twelve  years  his  niece  Elizabeth  looked  after  his 
home  in  Amesbury ;  after  her  marriage  in  1876,  Whittier, 
though  he  kept  his  legal  residence  in  Amesbury,  spent  most 
of  his  time  in  long  visits  to  various  friends  and  relatives  in 
New  Hampshire,  Maine,  and  eastern  Massachusetts.  Among 
notable  honors  that  he  received  may  be  mentioned  election 
as  overseer  of  Harvard  ard  as  trustee  of  Brown,  the  con- 


242  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

ferring  of  the  degrees  of  A.M.  and  LL.D.  by  Harvard,  and 
the  dinner  given  by  the  Atlantic  Monthly  on  his  seventieth 
birthday.  The  dinner  brought  together  some  fifty  or  sixty 
leading  American  writers,  who  in  verse  and  speech  paid 
tribute  to  the  modest  Quaker  poet.  Though  never  strong, 
Whittier  lived  longer  than  any  of  his  long-lived  ancestors, 
passing  away  in  September,  1892,  just  before  completing  his 
eighty-fifth  year. 

"And  now,  what  can  I  say  of  Whittier's  power,  — 
Why  should  he  see  great  visions,  and  dream  dreams, 
And  voice  them  in  undying  melodies  ? 
O  friends,  I  know  he  saw,  —  and  felt,  —  and  sang,  — 
Because  he  ever  kept  one  pure  ideal, 
One  starry  gleam,  before  him  all  his  days. 
He  dwelt  with  Beauty,  and  he  loved  her  well  ; 
With  Goodness,  and  he  followed  her  behest." 

In  these  lines  from  John  Russell  Hayes's  In  Memory  of 
Whittier  lies  the  explanation  of  Whittier's  lasting  influence. 
Colonel  Higginson  says  that  "  Whittier  during  his  whole 
life  rarely  lost  a  friend."  The  character  of  him  who  loved 
Beauty  and  followed  the  behest  of  Goodness  attracted  all 
who  came  in  contact  with  it  in  the  flesh,  and  has  a  per 
manent  charm  for  those  who  can  know  it  only  in  the  written 
record.  While  recognizing  that  the  language  of  his  anti- 
slavery  poems  "at  times  seems  severe  and  harsh,"  he  was 
proud  to  say  that  he  was  one  of  the  first  to  recognize  the 
merit  of  Henry  Timrod,  and  was  an  intimate  friend  of  Paul 
H.  Hayne,  "though  both  wrote  fiery  lyrics  against  the 
North."  With  the  adoption  of  the  constitutional  amend 
ment  abolishing  slavery,  Whittier  sang  his  Laus  Deo,  con 
cluding, 

"  With  a  sound  of  broken  chains 
Tell  the  nations  that  He  reigns, 
Who  alone  is  Lord  and  God  !  " 


LAST  YEARS 


243 


IS 


and  To  the  Thirty-Ninth  Congress  — 

"Then  buried  be  the  dreadful  past, 
Its  common  slain  be  mourned,  and  let 
All  memories  soften  to  regret." 

He  then,  in  his  own  language,  set  himself  "  with  kina  words 
and  deprecation  of  harsh  retaliation,  to  welcome  back  the 
revolted  states." 

Besides  the  appeal  of  Whittier's  character,  there 
an  even  wider  appeal 
in  his  poems  of  New 
England  familiar  life. 
He  was  inferior  to 
Lowell,  Longfellow, 
and  Holmes  in  tech 
nical  art,  and  his  work 
sometimes  suffers,  as 
does  Hawthorne's,  be 
cause  of  the  excess  of 
the  moral  element. 
Many  have  felt,  for 
example,  that  In 
School-Days  would  be 
greater  if  the  last  two 
stanzas  had  not  been 
written.  But  the  "  one 
pure  ideal,  one  starry 
gleam"  which  he 
"kept  before  him  all 
his  days  "  gives  a  touch  to  his  landscapes  and  everyday 
scenes  and  incidents  that  makes  for  enduring  fame. 


HOUSE  IN  MARBLEHEAD  IN  WHICH  LIVED 
"  SKIPPER  IRESON." 

Celebrated  in  Whittier's  poem, 


244  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


WALT   WHITMAN,    1819-1892 

A  Unique  Writer.  —  Though  Whitman  has  been  dead 
twenty  years,  his  place  in  poetry  is  far  from  fixed.  Every 
reader  must  have  an  opinion;  but  whatever  that  opinion 
may  be,  he  will  find  himself  in  good  company.  "I  look 
upon  Whitman,"  says  John  Burroughs,  "  as  the  one  moun 
tain  thus  far  in  our  literary  landscape."  "  Whitman,"  says 
Sidney  Lanier,  "is  poetry's  butcher.  Huge  raw  collops 
slashed  from  the  rump  of  poetry,  and  never  mind  gristle  — 
is  what  Whitman  feeds  our  souls  with."  He  was  an  inno 
vator  who  has  had  few  followers  and  not  a  throng  of 
admirers.  He  called  himself  the  people's  poet ;  but  he  has 
utterly  failed  to  reach  the  people,  and  his  eulogists  are  in 
variably  found  among  the  most  highly  cultured.  He  aspired 
to  be  America's  poet,  the  interpreter  of  American  democ 
racy  to  the  Old  World ;  but  even  his  intensest  partisans  do 
not  claim  that  the  interpretation  is  altogether  accurate.  A 
single  poem  of  three  lines,  To  Foreign  Lands,  setting  forth 
the  aspiration  just  mentioned,  will  give  the  reader  an  idea 
of  the  main  problem  in  reading  Whitman : 

"  I  heard  that  you  ask'd  for  something  to  prove 

this  puzzle  the  New  World, 
And  to  define  America,  her  athletic  Democracy, 
Therefore  I  send  you  my  poems  that  you  beho.ci 

in  them  what  you  wanted." 

The  first  question  that  naturally  arises  when  one  reads  this 
sort  of  writing  is,  Is  it  poetry  ?  The  main  facts  of  his  life 
give  not  a  little  aid  in  an  attempt  to  answer  this  and  other 
questions  regarding  his  writings. 

He  was  born  May  31,  1819,  on  Long  Island,  where 
Whitmans  had  lived  and  farmed  for  nearly  two  centuries. 
Named  Walter,  he  was  called  Walt  to  distinguish  him  from 


AN  IMPORTANT  JOURNEY 


245 


his  father.  Besides  being  a  farmer,  Walter  Whitman  was  a 
carpenter ;  and  when  his  son  was  four  years  old,  he  moved 
to  Brooklyn.  Thanks  to  grandmothers  who  did  not  move, 
Walt  spent  considerable  time  in  the  country.  He  had  only 
a  few  years  in  the  pub 
lic  schools  of  Brooklyn, 
and  at  the  age  of  twelve 
began  to  help  support 
the  family  by  working 
as  an  errand  boy.  He 
learned  typesetting, 
and  worked  at  the  trade 
off  and  on  for  a  good 
many  years.  At-  in 
tervals  he  taught  school 

—  as  to  what  subjects 
or  how  he  taught  them, 
little  is  known. 

An  Important  Journey. 

—  Along  with  his 
typesetting  he  did  vari 
ous   kinds   of  journal 
istic  work,   which   led 
in  1848  to  his  obtain 
ing  a  place  on  the  staff  of  a  New  Orleans  paper.     His  con 
nection  with  the  paper  lasted  only  a  few  months,  and  was 
in  no  way  notable.     What  was,  however,  notable  in  the  ex 
perience  was  the  journey  to  and  from  the  Louisiana  city. 
Accompanied  by  a  younger  brother  he  made  his   way  in 
leisurely  style,  walking  much  of  the  distance,  and  sailing 
down  the  Ohio  and  the  Mississippi.     The  return  was  made 
mostly  by  boat,  via  Saint  Louis,  Chicago,  the  Great  Lakes, 
and  Buffalo.    The  8000-mile  trip,  covering  so  great  a  portion 
of  what  was  then  the  United  States,  could  net  but  impress 


WALT  WHITMAN. 
The  "  Sage  of  Camden." 


246  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

any  man  with  the  physical,  material  greatness  of  the  coun 
try,  of  which  Whitman  so  constantly  wrote. 

First  Volume.  —  Back  in  Brooklyn  he  joined  his  father  in 
the  contracting  business,  which  promised  large  financial 
returns.  He  soon,  however,  retired  from  the  connection, 
without  explanation.  If  he  had  explained  that  he  had  a 
message  for  mankind,  which  he  was  to  deliver  in  his  pecul 
iar  unrhymed,  unmetrical  verse,  the  family  would  not  have 
understood.  One  of  his  brothers,  when  the  volume  Leaves 
of  Grass  appeared  in  1855,  "didn't  read  it  at  all  —  didn't 
think  it  worth  reading."  The  mother  could  make  nothing 
of  it.  The  book  for  a  time  found  almost  no  readers  except 
the  critics,  and  they  with  few  exceptions  condemned  it  un 
hesitatingly.  Whitman  went  off  to  think  it  over,  and  came 
back  to  Brooklyn  determined  "to  go  on  with  my  poetic 
enterprise  in  my  own  way  and  finish  it  as  well  as  I  could." 
The  following  year  he  brought  out  an  enlarged  edition  of 
Leaves  of  Grass,  a  title  retained  for  subsequent  issues  of 
his  poems  down  to  1889. 

A  Nurse  in  War  Time.  —  When  the  Civil  War  came, 
George  Whitman,  Walt's  younger  brother,  enlisted,  but 
Walt  did  not,  and  it  appears  that  he  never  thought  seriously 
of  doing  so.  "  It  is  inconceivable,"  says  Professor  Perry, 
"  that  he  could  have  made  an  effective  soldier.  The  requi 
site  obedience,  swiftness  of  action,  effacement  of  personal 
conviction,  were  not  in  him."  Whitman  doubtless  realized 
this  ;  but  he  could  not  foresee  that  a  work  quite  as  essential 
as  fighting  was  to  be  his.  Late  in  the  second  year  of  the 
war,  news  came  to  the  family  in  Brooklyn  that  Captain 
George  Whitman  had  been  seriously  wounded  at  Fredericks- 
burg. 

Walt  immediately  set  out  to  attend  his  brother,  found 
him  already  out  of  danger,  and,  stopping  to  see  something 
of  camp  life,  became  interested  in  the  sick  and  wounded. 


PATRIOTIC  VERSE  247 

From  this  time  until  the  close  of  the  war  he  gave  himself 
to  nursing  in  the  army  hospitals  of  Washington.  That  the 
visits  of  this  self-sacrificing  volunteer  to  the  bedsides  of  the 
suffering  were  most  welcome  and  helpful  is  shown  by 
numerous  testimonies.  "  His  theory,"  says  Carpenter,  "  was 
that  personal  affection  played  a  large  part  in  therapeutics  "  ; 
and  the  smiling  face  and  quiet  manner  of  this  giant  nurse 
contributed  to  many  recoveries.  Though  Whitman  was 
appreciated  by  so  many  individual  soldiers,  there  is  no  evi 
dence  of  appreciation  or  even  of  recognition  of  his  work  in 
official  circles.  His  nursing  undermined  his  own  health, 
and  the  last  twenty  years  of  his  life  he  was  a  semi-invalid, 
with  a  meager  income,  which  was  never  supplemented  by  a 
government  generally  regarded  as  almost  criminally  free  in 
distributing  pensions. 

Patriotic  Verse.  —  During  the  first  year  and  a  half  of  the 
war  Whitman  wrote  a  number  of  poems  expressing  the 
spirit  of  the  North,  which  were  published  in  1865  under  the 
title,  Drum-Taps.  While  the  volume  was  in  press,  Lincoln 
was  assassinated,  on  hearing  of  which  event  Whitman  com 
posed  two  poems,  published  shortly  after  as  Sequel  to  Drum- 
Taps.  The  first  of  these  Lincoln  laments  —  0  Captain ! 
my  Captain  I  —  is  one  of  the  author's  few  poems  in  rhymed 
stanzas,  and  is  universally  admired ;  while  the  other  — 
When  Lilacs  Last  in  the  Dooryard  Bloomed  —  is  only  a  little 
less  popular. 

For  the  next  eight  years  (1865-1873)  the  poet  was  a 
government  clerk  in  Washington,  where  he  became  a  well- 
known  figure,  with  intimate  friends  among  society  people,  car 
conductors,  and  wagon  drivers.  As  preparation  for  singing 
the  "  athletic  Democracy  "  of  America,  he  had  from  his  young 
manhood  cultivated  acquaintance  with  all  classes,  especially 
the  less  cultivated  and  less  refined,  since  these  constitute  so 
much  the  majority.  Early  in  1873  he  was  stricken  with 


248 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


paralysis,  but  recovered  and  after  about  two  months  returned 
to  his  desk.  This  Washington  life,  however,  was  soon  to 
terminate  forever.  In  May  Whitman's  mother  became  ill  at 
her  son  George's  home  in  Cainden,  New  Jersey ;  and  after 
her  death  Walt  had  a  second  and  more  severe  paralytic 
stroke,  from  which  he  never  wholly  recovered. 


THE  WHITMAN  VAULT  IN  HARLEIGH  CEMETERY,  CAMDEN. 
"The  best  house  he  ever  lived  in,"  said  a  fellow-townsman. 

Life  in  Camden,  and  Death.  —  During  the  last  nineteen 
years  of  his  life  he  lived  in  Camden,  —  sometimes  with  his 
brother,  sometimes  with  friends,  and  from  1884  in  a  house 
of  his  own.  He  suffered  a  number  of  illnesses,  in  the  inter 
vals  of  which  he  traveled  much,  often  lecturing  on  Lincoln, 
and  covering  most  of  the  country  from  Boston  to  the  Rocky 


HIS  WORK  AVOWEDLY  EXPERIMENTAL     249 

Mountains.  His  house  became  the  Mecca  for  his  hosts  of 
admirers,  who  regarded  him  as  a  sort  of  oracle.  He  lived 
to  hear  that  he  was  considered  a  great  poet  by  many  dis 
criminating  foreign  critics,  and  to  receive  a  fair  income 
from  the  sale  of  his  works  in  America.  He  died  March  26, 
1892,  and  was  buried  four  days  later  in  a  costly  tomb  pur 
chased  by  himself  the  previous  year. 

Whitman's  Critics  Now  Less  Severe.  —  While  it  is  true  that 
two  widely  separated  views  of  Whitman  are  current,  it  is 
equally  true  that  the  view  of  Lanier  quoted  above  is  less  fre 
quently  heard  now  than  formerly.  Dissenters  have  come  to 
look  more  closely  for  the  merits  attributed  to  him.  Many  of 
the  criticisms  once  generally  heard  are  heard  no  longer,  since 
a  better  understanding  of  the  poet  and  his  aims  prevails. 
The  complaint  of  his  excessive  egotism,  the  over-prevalence 
of  the  "  I"  and  "  myself,"  is  now  recognized  as  unfair,  since 
it  is  seen  that  "  I "  is  not  Walt  Whitman,  but  "a  simple  sep 
arate  person,"  or  humanity,  of  which  he  believed  himself  to 
be  a  typical  specimen.  The  complaint  of  his  vulgarity,  not 
infrequently  called  indecency,  which  has  led  an  occasional 
library  to  exclude  his  poems  from  the  shelves,  is  now  felt 
as  honest  plain  speaking,  by  one  supremely  conscious 

"  Of  Life  immense  in  passion,  pulse,  and  power, 
Cheerful,  for  freest  action  form'd  under  the  laws  divine." 

His  "catalogue"  method  of  composition,  by  which  he 
strings  out  long  lists  of  words  and  phrases  with  apparently 
an  entire  disregard  of  their  fitness  in  poetry,  is  seen  as  an 
attempt  to  express  his  large  conceptions  of  life,  democracy, 
friendship,  patriotism. 

His  Work  Avowedly  Experimental.  —  On  the  other  liand, 
many  of  the  dissenters  have  come  to  admit  that  Whitman 
appreciated  the  elements  of  greatness  in  our  national  lift1; 
and  ideals,  and  voiced  them  in  noteworthy  form,  even  if, 


250  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

as  they  say,  inadequately.  They  see  also  that  "the  institu 
tion  of  the  dear  love  of  comrades,"  which  he  said  he  would 
"establish"  everywhere,  is  an  institution  much  needed  in 
this  selfish  age,  and  well  worthy  the  poet's  song.  As  a  last 
point  appealing  to  the  non-Whitmanites  may  be  mentioned 
the  frank  statements  frequent  in  Whitman  that  he  regarded 
his  work,  not  as  a  last  word,  but  merely  as  an  experiment. 
"  The  word  I  myself  put  primarily  for  the  description  of 
them  "  (i.e.  Leaves  of  Grass)  "  as  they  stand  at  last,  is  the 
word  Suggestiveness.  I  round  and  finish  little,  if  anything ; 
and  could  not,  consistently  with  my  scheme.  The  reader 
will  always  have  his  or  her  part  to  do,  just  as  much  as  I 
have  had  mine."  So  speaks  the  poet  in  an  essay  written  a 
few  years  before  his  death,  A  Backward  Glance  o'er  Travel' d 
Roads,  which  is  an  excellent  preparation  for  reading  his 
poetry.  "  The  volume "  (still  referring  to  Leaves)  "  is  a 
sortie  —  whether  to  prove  triumphant,  and  conquer  its  field 
of  aim  and  escape  and  construction,  nothing  less  than  a 
hundred  years  from  now  can  fully  answer."  And  again: 
"My  volume  is  a  candidate  for  the  future."  The  experi 
mental  and  suggestive  character  of  his  work  is  plainly  and 
forcibly  avowed  in  one  of  his  poems,  which  we  quote  entire  : 

"  Poets  to  come  !  orators,  singers,  musicians  to  come  ! 
Not  to-day  is  to  justify  me  and  answer  what  I  am  for, 
But  you,  a  new  brood,  native,  athletic,  continental,  greater  .than  be 
fore  known, 
Arouse  !  for  you  must  justify  me. 

"  I  myself  but  write  one  or  two  indicative  words  for  the  future, 
I  but  advance  a  moment  only  to  wheel  and  hurry  back  in  the  dark 
ness. 

"I  am  a  man  who,  sauntering  along  without  fully  stopping,  turns  a 

casual  look  upon  you  and  then  averts  his  face, 
Leaving  it  to  you  to  prove  and  define  it, 
Expecting  the  main  things  from  you." 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 


251 


More  than  any  other  figure  in  American  literature,  Whit 
man  defies  a  sure  estimate.  He  seems,  says  Professor  Trent, 
a  conservative  critic,  "  too  large  a  man  and  poet  for  adequate 
comprehension  at  present."  In  the  case  of  no  other  writer 
in  our  literary  history  is  it  so  necessary  to  await  a  day 
which  will  throw  him  into  a  just  perspective. 


OLIVER   WENDELL   HOLMES,    1809-1894 

A  Versatile  Writer.  —  The  last  writer  coming  within  our 

survey    wished    to    be 

remembered  by  one 
poem,  The  Chambered 
Nautilus;  and  it  seems 
truly,  as  Whittier  said, 
to  be  "  booked  for  im 
mortality."  It  is  too 
much  to  expect,  how 
ever,  that  a  single  poem 
of  thirty-five  lines  will 
confer  immortality  on 
its  author.  Holmes  is 
far  from  holding  to  a 
place  in  our  literature 
by  so  slight  a  thread. 
Of  his  many  claims 
to  remembrance  the 
humor  and  philosophy 
of  The  Autocrat  of  the 
Breakfast  Table  consti 
tute  the  strongest. 
Lowell  got  to  the  core 
of  Holmes's  excellence 
Seventy-Fifth  Birthday : 


A  PORTRAIT  OF  HOLMES. 

Which  suggests  the  Doctor  or  the  Professor, 
rather  than  the  Poet  or  the  Autocrat. 


in  his   poem,    To   Holmes  on   his 


252  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

' '  You  with  the  classic  few  belong 

Who  tempered  wisdom  with  a  smile'." 

Holmes  also  wrote  novels,  biographies,  literary  and  scientific 
essays,  and  humorous  poems  ;  and  the  question  has  been 
asked  of  him  as  of  Lowell  whether,  with  his  attention  and 
interest  more  restricted,  he  would  not  have  reached  a  higher 
place.  The  question  is  an  idle  one  —  men  like  Holmes  and 
Lowell  cannot  be  shut  up  in  any  one  small  field. 

Not  an  Active  Abolitionist.  —  One  striking  difference  be 
tween  Holmes  and  his  fellow  poets  of  New  England  should 
be  mentioned.  Though  believing  slavery  to  be  "a  dreadful 
business,"  he  declined  to  affiliate  with  abolition  societies  or 
to  use  his  pen  in  behalf  of  this  or  other  reforms.  Chidden 
in  1846  for  this  apparent  indifference  or  lack  of  sympathy 
by  Lowell,  Holmes  wrote  a  reply  of  some  length,  justifying 
himself  and  indirectly  reproving  the  younger  poet  for  his 
immature  judgment.  "  I  shall  always  be  pleased  rather  to 
show  what  is  beautiful  in  the  life  around  me  than  to  be  pitch 
ing  into  giant  vices,  against  which  the  acrid  pulpit  and  the 
corrosive  newspaper  will  always  anticipate  the  gentle  poet. 
Each  of  us  has  his  theory  of  life,  of  art,  of  his  own  existence 
and  relations.  It  is  too  much  to  ask  of  you  to  enter  fully 
into  mine,  but  be  very  well  assured  that  it  exists,  —  that  it 
has  its  axioms,  its  intuitions,  its  connected  beliefs  as  well 
as  your  own.  Let  me  try  to  improve  and  please  my  fellow- 
men  after  my  own  fashion  at  present."  The  general  verdict 
is  that  the  Autocrat's  fashion  was  quite  as  good  as  his  critic's, 
as  the  critic  himself  came  to  realize. 

Early  Life  and  Education.  —  Holmes  was  born  in  Cambridge, 
August  29,  1809.  On  both  sides  he  "came  of  the  best  New 
England  stock,"  tracing  his  ancestry  to  a  Holmes  who  settled 
in  Connecticut  in  1686,  and  to  a  Bradstreet  and  a  Dudley 
who  were  early  governors  of  Massachusetts  Bay.  It  may 


EARLY  LIFE  AND  EDUCATION 


253 


be  mentioned  that  this  Bradstreet  was  the  husband  of  Anne, 
the  poet  discussed  above.  In  another  line  on  his  mother's 
side  he  was  descended  from  a  Dutch  Wendell,  who  came  to 
Albany,  New  York,  about  1640,  and  whose  grandson  Jacob, 
removed  to  Boston  early  in  the  next  century.  Dr.  Holmes 


HOLMES'S  BIRTHPLACE,  CAMBRIDGE. 

The  "house  with  a  gambrel  roof,"  as  it  is  called  in  Parson  Turell's 
Legacy. 

thought  well  of  families  who  had  been  prominent  for  four 
or  five  generations;  but  he  liked  also,  he  said,  "to  see 
worthless  rich  people  have  to  yield  their  places  to  deserving 
poor  ones." 

Holmes's  father  was  pastor  in  Cambridgerand  had  some 
reputation  as  an  historian.  In  his  father's  large  library  young 
Oliver  "  tumbled  about,"  an  occupation  which  he  believed 
to  be  of  distinct  value  to  any  child.  Up  to  the  age  of  fif- 


254  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

teen  he  had  an  ordinary  school  training  in  Cambridge,  after 
which  he  was  sent  to  Phillips- Andover  Academy.  The  only 
events  of  his  boyhood  that  his  biographers  have  been  able 
to  unearth  are  a  lasting  friendship  with  one  Phineas  Barnes 
and  an  undeserved  thrashing,  both  of  the  Andover  period. 
His  whole  life,  indeed,  was  remarkably  uneventful.  From 
Andover,  Holmes  proceeded  to  Harvard,  and  was  graduated, 
;ifter  an  inconspicuous  career,  in  the  famous  class  of  J29,  of 
which  he  was  poet.  He  then  took  up  the  study  of  law,  but 
after  a  year  gave  it  up  for  medicine.  This  year  of  1830 
was  made  notable  in  Holmes's  life  by  his  writing  of  Old 
Ironsides,  the  stirring  lyric  of  successful  protest  against  the 
destruction  of  the  famous  old  vessel.  "  This  is  probably  the 
only  case,"  says  Professor  Page,  "in  which  a  government 
policy  was  changed  by  the  verses  of  a  college  student." 

"  Professor  "  Holmes.  —  After  a  short  period  of  study  in 
a  private  medical  school,  Holmes  went  abroad  for  two  and 
a  half  years,  spending  most  of  the  time  in  the  hospitals  of 
Paris.  Returning  to  America,  he  received  the  degree  of 
M.D.  from  Harvard  in  1836,  and  published  a  volume  of 
poems,  mostly  humorous.  It  appears  that  being  a  wit  and 
a  poet  distinctly  hindered  his  progress  as  a  practicing  phy 
sician  ;  but  in  the  professor's  chair  he  was  an  unquestioned 
success.  Two  years  after  graduation  he  was  appointed 
Professor  of  Anatomy  at  Dartmouth  College  and  nine  years 
later  he  came  to  the  same  position  at  Harvard.  For  thirty- 
five  years  he  occupied  this  chair,  which  he  called  a  settee,  in 
allusion  to  the  number  of  subjects  he  was  expected  to  teach. 
The  best  evidence  of  his  power  in  the  classroom  is  the  fact 
that  his  lecture  hour  was  always  one  o'clock,  because  no 
other  teacher  could  hold  the  attention  of  students  who  had 
already  listened  to  four  lectures  on  other  subjects.  In  1840 
he  had  married  Miss  Amelia  Jackson,  "an  ideal  wife, 
—  a  comrade  most  delightful,  a  helpmate  the  most  useful." 


THE  "AUTOCRAT"  255 

For  ten  years  after  his  joining  the  Harvard  Medical  Fac 
ulty  Holmes's  prose  was  on  professional  subjects.  His 
poems  were  mostly  local  and  "  occasional " ;  that  is,  they 
dealt  with  matters  of  New  England  or  merely  Bostonian 
or  Harvard  interest,  and  were  usually  composed  for  special 
occasions  —  birthdays,  class  reunions,  and  the  like.  He 
wrote  a  poem  for  every  reunion  of  the  class  of  '29  from 
1851  to  1889,  a  series  which  still  holds  first  rank  in  its 
kind.  Of  these  thirty-nine  class  productions  probably  the 
best  known  is  The  Boys,  beginning  : 

"  Has  there  any  old  fellow  got  mixed  with  the  boys  ? 
If  there  has,  take  him  out,  without  making  a  noise." 

The  "  Autocrat."  —  It  was  in  the  year  1857,  when  Holmes 
was  forty-eight  years  old,  that  he  "  found  himself."  A  new 
magazine  to  be  started  in  Boston  Lowell  agreed  to  edit,  if 
Holmes  would  agree  to  contribute.  Holmes  suggested  the 
name,  The  Atlantic  Monthly,  and  wrote  in  serial  form  for 
the  first  twelve  numbers  The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast 
Table.  From  this  time  his  reputation  was  as  a  prose  writer, 
and  he  is  usually  spoken  of  as  the  "Autocrat."  In  this 
book  is  recorded  the  conversation  of  a  supposedly  typical 
Boston  boarding  house,  in  which  the  Autocrat  himself  takes 
a  leading  part.  Several  of  the  characters  are  sketched 
rather  interestingly,  and  the  little  touch  of  romance  is 
pleasant.  But  —  "  Please  to  remember,"  says  the  Autocrat 
in  his  third  number,  "  this  is  talk ;  just  as  easy  and  just  as 
formal  as  I  choose  to  make  it."  It  is  the  "  talk  "  of  the 
narrator  that  carries  the  book ;  and  this  talk  is,  naturally, 
rambling  and  varied.  It  deals  with  authors  and  cats, 
Shakespeare  and  Franklin  and  Aristophanes,  intemperance, 
the  privilege  of  misquoting,  and  almost  as  many  more  top 
ics  as  the  book  has  pages.  Some  of  the  author's  best 
poems — for  example,  The  Chambered  Nautilus  and  The 


256  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

One-Hoss  Shay — appeared  here  for  the  first  time.  At  the 
other  extreme  Holmes  indulged  to  the  full  his  fondness  for 
punning,  of  which  the  following  is  a  fair  specimen :  "  The 
Atlantic,  by  the  way,  is  not  so  called  because  it  is  a  notion" 

The  Autocrat  was  followed  by  The  Professor  at  the  Break 
fast  Table  (1860),  and  The  Poet  at  the  Breakfast  Table 
(1872),  and  the  same  free  and  loose  style  of  composition 
was  used  in  Over  the  Teacups  (1890).  These  fall  below  the 
Autocrat  only  as  imitations  and  sequels  usually  fall  below 
originals,  with,  in  Over  the  Teacups,  the  additional  weakness 
of  old  age. 

The  Novelist.  —  In  the  Autocrat  Holmes  expressed  his 
belief  "  that  every  articulately  speaking  human  being  has  in 
him  stuff  for  one  novel."  His  actions  indicate  that  he 
thought  himself  equipped  above  the  average,  for  he  wrote 
three  novels  —  Elsie  Venner  (1861),  TJie  Guardian  Angel 
(1867),  and  A  Mortal  Antipathy  (1885).  They  are  not  great 
works,  and  add  nothing  to  the  author's  fame.  In  addition 
to  the  shortcoming  that  he  was  not  a  good  story-teller, 
Holmes  wrote  these  works  from  the  professional  rather  than 
the  artistic  point  of  view.  They  are  three  studies  in  hered 
ity;  and  while  they  hold  the  reader's  attention,  they  also 
justify  the  epithet  given  them  by  an  old  lady  —  "  medicated 
novels." 

The  Biographer.  —  Two  biographies  written  by  Holmes  are 
hardly  more  successful  than  the  novels.  That  of  John 
Lothrop  Motley  (1878)  was  written  too  soon  after  the  subject's 
death,  while  the  controversy  over  his  recall  as  Minister 
to  England  was  still  fresh  in  people's  minds.1  Holmes's 
Motley  must  be  called  special  pleading  or  even  apology  for  a 
close  friend.  The  biography  of  Emerson  (1884)  is  according 
to  almost  universal  opinion  "  delightful " ;  but  the  critical 
reader  will  be  disappointed.  Only  on  its  religious  side  was 
1  See  page  156. 


THE  BIOGRAPHER 


257 


FACSIMILE  OF  HOLMES'S  PREFACE  TO  Elsie  Venner. 
One  of  his  "medicated  novels." 


258  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Holmes  sympathetic  with  Transcendentalism,  and  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  set  forth  —  perhaps  impossible  for  him 
to  comprehend  sufficiently  —  the  "Sage  of  Concord."  As 
an  intimate  picture  of  a  neighbor  and  friend  who  was  one 
of  the  most  lovable  of  men,  the  Emerson  is  altogether 
admirable. 

In  1882,  at  the  age  of  seventy-three,  Holmes  resigned  his 
active  duties  as  professor  to  devote  himself  wholly  to  liter 
ature.  Fo  ir  years  later  he  made  his  second  visit  to  Europe, 
spending  most  of  his  time  in  England,  where  he  was  en 
thusiastically  received.  Three  British  universities  conferred 
honorary  degrees  on  him.  The  notes  of  this  trip  he  published 
on  his  return  with  the  title,  Our  Hundred  Days  in  Europe. 

Last  Years.  —  Holmes  reached  his  three-score-and  -ten 
without  suffering  any  great  loss  or  other  cause  of  personal 
grief.  It  would  have  been  almost  beyond  possibility,  how 
ever,  for  him  to  finish  out  fifteen  years  more  in  the  same 
way.  The  first  break  came  in  1884,  when  his  son  Edward 
died,  followed  four  years  later  by  his  classmate  and  devoted 
friend,  James  Freeman  Clarke.  In  the  same  year  came  the 
greatest  sorrow  of  all,  the  death  of  his  wife,  who  had  for 
forty -five  years  "  smoothed  his  way  for  him,  removed  annoy 
ances  from  his  path,  [done]  for  him  with  her  easy  executive 
capacity  a  thousand  things,  which  otherwise  he  would  have 
missed  or  have  done  with  difficulty  for  himself"  (Morse). 

Hardly  more  than  a  year  after  his  wife's  death,  his  daughter, 
Mrs.  Sargent,  who  had  closed  a  beautiful  home  in  Boston  in 
order  to  keep  her  father's  house  in  Cambridge,  passed  away 
also.  Holmes's  letters  referring  to  these  losses,  while  ad 
mitting  that  they  were  heavy  blows,  show  no  repining  and 
are  full  of  gratitude  for  even  the  smallest  consolation  he 
finds.  He  was  not,  however,  destined  to  spend  his  last  years 
alone.  Almost  immediately  after  Mrs.  Sargent's  death, 
Holmes's  daughter-in-law,  Mrs.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  Jr., 


AN  ATTRACTIVE  PERSONALITY 


259 


whom  he  described  as 
"  a  very  helpful,  hope 
ful,  powerful,  as  well 
as  brilliant  woman," 
came  to  him ;  and  she 
and  her  husband,  now 
Justice  Holmes,  of  the 
United  States  Supreme 
Court,  made  his  home 
theirs  until  his  death. 
This  event  occurred 
October  7,  1894.  He 
had  outlived  all  his 
noted  contemporaries, 
and  was  indeed 

"The  last  leaf  upon  the 
tree." 

An  Attractive  Person 
ality.  —  Of  Holmes 
Thackeray  said,  when 
the  Autocrat  was  fresh : 
"No  man  in  England 
can  write  with  his 
charming  mixture  of 
wit,  pathos,  and  imagi 
nation."  Mr.  Morse 
tells  us  that  out  of  over 
three  thousand  news 
paper  clippings  col 
lected  after  Holmes's 
death  not  more  than 
fifty  failed  to  call  him 


CARTOON  OF  HOLMES. 

Which  appeared  in  Vanity  Fair,  a  London 

periodical,  and  highly  amused  and  pleased 

him. 


either  "  genial "  or  "  kindly."     Those  who  know  his  writings 
know  him  —  it   has   often  been   remarked  that  a  lengthy 


260  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

autobiography  could  add  little  or  nothing  to  our  understand 
ing  of  this  delightful  personality.  He  is  a  Bostonian  of 
Bostonians ;  witness  his  Autocrat :  "  Boston  State  House  is 
the  hub  of  the  Solar  System.  You  couldn't  pry  that  out  of 
a  Boston  man  if  you  had  the  tire  of  all  creation  straightened 
out  for  a  crowbar."  This  is  said  in  jest  by  a  more  or  less 
fictitious  personage ;  but  it  is  an  important  clause  in  the 
author's  own  creed.  Equally  strong  is  his  affection  for  and 
pride  in  his  Alma  Mater ;  witness  the  long  list  of  class  re 
union  poems  already  referred  to,  and  the  verses  for  various 
university  occasions. 

Above  all  the  attractive  elements  in  his  make-up  is  -his 
gift  of  humor,  with  that  of  its  complement,  pathos.  The 
combination  of  these  two  gifts  is  shown  excellently,  if  not 
better  than  anywhere  else,  in  one  of  his  earliest  lyrics,  The 
Last  Leaf,  giving  a  picture  of  an  out-of-date  old  man  who 
is  reported  to  have  been  a  fine  young  man.  Of  purely 
humorous  poems  there  is  a  long  and  glorious  list,  from  TJie 
Height  of  the  Ridiculous,  written  when  the  poet  was  twenty- 
one,  to  The  Broomstick  Train,  sixty  years  later.  In  the 
former  he  tells  how  a  humorous  composition  of  his  sent  hit 
man  servant  into  fits,  since  when,  he  says, 

"  I  never  dare  to  write 
As  funny  as  I  can." 

In  the  latter  he  asserts  that  the  trolley  cars,  then  a  very  re 
cent  invention,  are  run  by  the  witches  who  did  so  much 
mischief  in  early  times.  In  this,  in  TJie  One-Hoss  Shay, 
and  in  Parson  TarelVs  Legacy,  he  appears  to  have  forgotten 
the  implied  promise  of  the  lines  just  quoted  from  the 
early  poem.  To  say  that  these  humorous  poems  are 
"  booked  for  immortality  "  as  is  the  Nautilus,  would  be  rash  ; 
but  they  have  a  vigor  and  charm  which  will  give  them  a 
tenacious  hold  on  life,  certainly  as  long  as  the  personality 
and  career  of  their  author  form  so  interesting  a  study. 


CONCLUSION  261 


CONCLUSION 

We  have  said  that  the  year  1892  closed  an  epoch  in  both 
England  and  America.  We  have  also  assumed  that  litera 
ture  in  English  produced  since  1892  is  inferior  to  that  pro 
duced  in  the  period  then  finished.  Such  is  not,  however, 
the  explanation  of  the  choice  of  date  to  end  our  survey. 
This  we  can  best  give  in  the  language  of  Matthew  Arnold : 
"  No  man  can  trust  himself  to  speak  of  his  own  time  and 
his  own  contemporaries  with  the  same  sureness  of  judgment 
and  the  same  proportion  as  of  times  and  men  gone  by  " ; 
and  in  a  book  like  this  "  we  should  avoid,  as  far  as  we  can, 
all  hindrances  to  sureness  of  judgment  and  proportion.7' 

Professor  Trent  is  inclined  to  put  this  limitation  on  criti 
cism  of  most  of  the  writers  covered  by  our  fourth  chapter. 
"  It  is  impossible,"  says  he,  "  to  treat  otherwise  than  tenta 
tively,  and  to  a  certain  extent  in  impressionistic  fashion 
authors  who  have  seemed  almost  a  part  of  our  own  genera 
tion."  That  this  feeling  is  widespread  among  critics  is 
shown  by  the  frequency  of  the  word  "seems"  in  the  esti 
mates  of  men  as  far  removed  from  us  as  Longfellow  and 
Emerson,  or  even  Poe  and  Hawthorne.  In  this  book  we 
have  attempted  a  minimum  of  critical  judgment;  and  in 
cases  where  large  differences  of  opinion  are  still  found, 
have  attempted  a  fair  presentation  of  both  sides. 

Books  of  this  character  sometimes  adopt  another  method 
of  restricting  the  authors  treated,  drawing  the  line  between 
the  living  and  the  dead.  This  method  makes  anything  like 
judicial  criticism  even  more  difficult  than  does  the  choice  of 
a  year  somewhat  removed.  If  no  living  writers  were 
treated  in  a  history  of  English  literature  written  in  this 
year  (1914),  we  should  have  to  exclude  Thomas  Hardy  and 
Kipling  while  including  George  Meredith  and  Swinburne. 
Yet  the  four  were  almost  equally  prominent  in  the  literary 


262  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

world  twenty  years  ago.  In  American  literature  we  should 
feel  it  necessary  to  discuss  Eugene  Field,  Marion  Crawford, 
Mark  Twain,  while  we  should  be  prohibited  from  discuss 
ing  James  Whitcomb  Riley  or  William  Dean  Howells. 
Yet  the  two  groups  represent  almost  equally  the  spirit  and 
tendencies  of  the  past  quarter  of  a  century. 

The  failure  to  treat  living  or  recent  writers,  and  the 
expression  of  a  belief  that  American  literature  since  1892  is 
inferior  to  what  preceded,  do  not  signify  that  we  consider 
current  literature  without  merit  or  the  future  as  dark. 
Outside  of  the  newspapers,  the  majority  of  people  to-day 
may  be  said  to  limit  their  reading  to  the  popular  magazines. 
Of  the  contents  of  these  publications  the  most  notable 
portions  are  the  short-stories,  which  in  many  cases  reach  a 
high  degree  of  excellence.  Going  a  step  farther,  we  may 
say  that  the  most  successful  of  these  short-stories  usually 
set  forth  and  interpret  some  characteristic  bits  of  American 
life  —  a  New  England  village,  or  a  Western  mining  camp, 
or  a  fashionable  section  in  a  large  city,  or  a  remote  and 
backward  mountain  community.  A  healthy  humor  is  gen 
erally  found  in  these  stories.  In  the  higher  class  of  maga 
zines  critical  articles  of  great  merit  constantly  appear, 
showing  thorough  study  and  careful  presentation  of  topics 
of  great  interest  and  of  vital  importance,  in  literature, 
history,  economics,  social  science,  biology  —  in  fact,  in  every 
subject  which  an  aggressive  and  progressive  people  find  of 
probable  use  in  their  development.  In  the  fields  covered 
by  our  numerous  and  varied  magazines,  it  seems  likely  that 
a  vigorous  native  literature  may  arise,  which  will  be  able  to 
hold  its  own  even  beside  the  great  output  of  the  half  century 
centering  about  1850. 


SUPPLEMENTARY   LIST    OF    AUTHORS    NOT    TREATED    IN 
THE  BODY  OF  THE  HISTORY 

Chapters  I-II  (1608-1809) 

BRACKENRIDGE,  HUGH  HENRY  (1748-1816).  Born  in  Scotland. 
Carae  to  Pennsylvania  in  youth.  Lawyer,  and  for  the  last  fifteen 
years  of  his  life  Judge  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  Pennsylvania.  Chief 
work,  Modern  Chivalry,  a  burlesque  novel.  Died  in  Pennsylvania. 

BYRD,  WILLIAM  (1674-1744).  A  native  Virginian  of  wealth  and 
position.  Educated  in  England  and  on  the  Continent.  Member  of 
the  commission  that  fixed  the  boundary  between  Virginia  and  North 
Carolina.  Of  his  works,  which  he  left  in  manuscript,  the  best  is  the 
History  of  the  Dividing  Line,  an  account  of  the  commission's  work. 
Died  in  Virginia. 

COTTON,  JOHN  (1585-1652).  Born  in  England.  New  England 
preacher,  and  author  of  fifty  books.  Very  influential  in  his  own  day, 
but  now  chiefly  remembered  because  of  a  controversy  with  Roger 
Williams,  and  because  he  was  Cotton  Mather's  grandfather.  Died  in 
Boston. 

SEWALL,  SAMUEL  (1652-1730).  Born  in  England.  Chief  Justice 
of  the  Massachusetts  Supreme  Court,  and  sat  in  the  witchcraft  trials. 
His  Diary  is  a  valuable  record  of  the  life  of  the  colony  from  1673  to 
1729.  His  Selling  of  Joseph  is  mentioned  above  (page  131).  Being 
convinced  of  the  error  of  his  decisions  in  the  witchcraft  trials,  he  per 
formed  penance  in  public  for  many  years.  Died  in  Boston. 

WILLIAMS,  ROGER  (about  1600-1683).  Born  in  London.  Apostle 
of  religious  toleration,  and  founder  of  Rhode  Island.  Died  in  Rhode 
Island. 

Chapter  III  (1809-1865) 

KENNEDY,  JOHN  PENDLETON  (1795-1870).  Born  in  Baltimore. 
Served  in  War  of  1812.  Member  of  Congress.  Secretary  of  the 
Navy.  Wrote  novels,  of  which  the  best  are  Swallow  Barn,  a  tale 
of  colonial  Virginia ;  and  Horse-Shoe  Robinson,  a  tale  of  Revolu 
tionary  days.  Died  in  Newport,  Rhode  Island. 

263 


264  AMERICAN    LITERATURE 

PAULDING,  JAMES  KIRKE  (1779-1860).  Born  in  New  York 
Kinsman  of  Irving,  and  associated  with  him  in  early  literary  work. 
Secretary  of  the  Navy  under  Van  Buren.  Wrote  novels  that  en 
joyed  a  certain  amount  of  popularity  in  their  day,  but  can  hardly 
be  said  to  have  "  survived."  Died  in  New  York. 

PRESCOTT,  WILLIAM  HICKLING  (1796-1859).  Born  in  Salem, 
Massachusetts.  His  sight  was  almost  destroyed  by  an  accident 
while  in  college ;  but  he  found  means  to  get  hold  of  the  informa 
tion  he  needed  for  historical  writing,  and  produced  a  great  series 
of  histories —  The  Reign  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  The  Conquest 
of  Mexico,  The  Conquest  of  Peru,  The  Reign  of  Philip  II.  Died 
in  Salem. 

READ,  THOMAS  BUCHANAN  ( 1822-1872) .  Born  in  Chester  County, 
Pennsylvania.  Led  a  wandering  life  — in  Philadelphia,  Cincin 
nati,  Boston,  New  York,  Europe.  Engaged  in  various  occupations  — 
tailor,  cigar-maker,  sculptor,  sign  and  portrait  painter,  verse-maker. 
Remembered  chiefly  for  a  few  lyrics,  best-known  of  which  is 
Sheridan's  Ride.  Died  in  New  York  City. 

SIMMS,  WILLIAM  GILMORE  (1806-1870).  Born  in  Charleston, 
South  Carolina.  Generally  called  the  most  important  man  of 
letters  in  the  South  before  the  War.  Wrote  poems,  novels,  and 
journalistic  work  of  various  kinds,  amounting  in  all  to  nearly  one 
hundred  volumes.  His  novels  are  better  than  his  verse  ;  and  of 
them  the  best  deal  with  Colonial  and  Revolutionary  times  in  the 
South  —  The  Yemassee  and  The  Partisan.  Died  in  Charleston. 

STOWE,  HARRIET  BEECHER  (1811-1896).  Born  in  Litchfield, 
Connecticut.  Sister  of  the  distinguished  pulpit  orator,  Henry  Ward 
Beecher.  Made  famous  by  a  single  story—  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin, 
which  aims  to  set  forth  the  abuses  of  slavery.  Later  works,  like 
The  Minister's  Wooing  and  Oldtown  Folks,  tales  of  New  England 
life,  entitled  Mrs.  Stowe  to  a  higher  place  in  literature  than  does 
the  better  known  book.  After  the  War  she  lived  in  Florida,  and 
devoted  herself  to  the  cause  of  the  Southern  people,  well  knowing 
the  un fitness  of  either  the  negro  or  the  "  carpet-bagger"  to  restore 
order  out  of  the  chaos  left  by  the  great  conflict.  Died  in  Hartford, 
Connecticut. 

TAYLOR,  BAYARD  (1825-1878).  Born  at  Kennett  Square,  Chester 
County,  Pennsylvania.  First  became  known  as  a  writer  by  his 


SUPPLEMENTARY  LIST  OF  AUTHORS        265 

Views  Afoot,  an  account  of  two  years'  travel  in  Europe.  Wrote 
poems,  well  received,  but  little  regarded  to-day  ;  and  novels,  which 
also  have  lost  much  of  their  early  fame.  His  translation  of  Goethe's 
Faust,  however,  still  holds  a  high  place,  and  seems  likely  TO  con 
stitute  his  chief  claim  to  distinction.  Of  his  poems  the  Bedouin 
Love  Song  is  best  known,  partly,  perhaps,  for  its  musical  setting  by 
Pinsuti.  The  Story  of  Kennett  is  his  best  novel.  Died  in  Germany, 
soon  after  reaching  that  country  as  United  States  Minister. 

WILLIS,  NATHANIEL  PARKER  (1806-1867).  Born  in  Portland, 
Maine.  An  influential  figure  in  his  day,  his  career  belongs  rather 
to  the  history  of  New  York  City  journalism,  though  he  produced 
some  successful  specimens  of  what  is  now  called  "society  verse." 
Died  in  New  York. 

Chapter  IV  (1865-1892)  and  After 

ALCOTT,  LOUISA  MAY  (1832-1888).  Born  in  Philadelphia. 
Very  successful  writer  of  children's  stories  —  Little  Women,  Little 
Men,  Jo's  Boys,  Eight  Cousins,  Rose  in  Bloom,  Jack  and  Jill. 
Died  in  Boston. 

ALDRICH,  THOMAS  BAILEY  (1836-1907).  Born  in  Portsmouth, 
New  Hampshire.  Lived  for  some  time  in  the  South  in  boyhood, 
then  a  few  years  in  New  York  City.  From  about  1860  Aldrich  be 
longed  to  the  Boston  literary  group.  Editor  Atlantic  Monthly, 
1881-1890.  Wrote  some  poems,  but  is  best  known  for  his  stories,  of 
which  the  most  famous  are  Marjorie  Daw  and  The  Story  of  a  Bad 
Boy,  Died  in  Boston. 

ALLEN,  JAMES  LANE  (1849).  Born  near  Lexington,  Kentucky. 
Novelist.  Stories  :  A  Kentucky  Cardinal,  Aftermath  (sequel  to  the 
preceding),  The  Choir  Invisible,  The  Reign  of  Law.  Living  in 
New  York  City. 

BURROUGHS,  JOHN  (1837).  Born  in  New  York.  Naturalist  and 
literary  essayist.  Has  published  many  collections  of  essays,  such 
as  Fresh  Fields,  Indoor  Studies.  Since  1874  he  "  has  lived  on  a 
farm  [West  Park,  near  Poughkeepsif.  New  York],  devotinar  his 
time  to  literature  and  fruit  culture."  His  cottage  bears  the  pictur 
esque  name  "  Slabsides." 

CABLE,  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  (1844).  Born  in  New  Orleans. 
Served  in  the  Confederate  army.  'After  the  War  entered  journalism. 
Wrote  stories  of  the  Creoles  of  Louisiana,  first  collected  in  1879  in 


266  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Old  Creole  Days.  Since  this  volume  Cable  has  written  a  number 
of  novels,  of  which  the  most  successful  are  The  Grandissimes, 
and  John  March,  Southerner.  Living  in  Northampton,  Massa 
chusetts. 

CHURCHILL,  WINSTON  (1871).  Born  in  Saint  Louis.  Novelist. 
Best  known  novels  :  Richard  Carvel,  The  Crisis,  The  Crossing, 
The  Inside  of  the  Cup.  Living  at  Cornish,  New  Hampshire. 

CLEMENS,  SAMUEL  LANGHORNE  (1835-1910),  better  known  as 
"  Mark  Twain."  Born  in  Missouri.  Printer,  and  steamboat  pilot 
on  the  Mississippi.  Moving  west,  became  journalist  in  Nevada  and 
California.  At  age  of  thirty-two  went  East,  and  began  his  career 
as  humorist.  Innocents  Abroad,  Roughing  It,  and  Following  the 
Equator  are  unevenly  humorous  books  of  travel.  Wrote  a  number 
of  excellent  short  stories,  such  as  The  Million  Pound  Bank  Note, 
A  Double-Barreled  Detective  Story,  and  the  Jumping  Frog.  The 
Prince  and  the  Pauper  is  a  delightful  child's  story.  Twain's 
generally  admitted  masterpieces,  however,  are  two  stories  of  the 
life  he  had  seen  in  the  Mississippi  valley,  Tom  Sawyer,  and  Huckle 
berry  Finn.  Died  in  Connecticut. 

CRAWFORD,  FRANCIS  MARION  (1854-1909).  Born  in  Italy. 
Partly  educated  in  America,  but  spent  comparatively  little  time  in 
this  country,  and  made  his  permanent  home  in  Italy  after  1883. 
Most  of  his  stories  are  Italian  in  setting  and  characters,  the  best 
being  a  trilogy  dealing  with  three  generations  of  a  family,  Sara- 
cinesca,  Sanf  Ilario,  and  Don  Orsino.  Held  very  decided  views 
as  to  the  function  of  fiction,  set  forth  in  essay,  The  Novel :  What 
It  Is.  Died  in  Italy. 

FIELD,  EUGENE  (1850-1895).  Born  in  Saint  Louis.  Life  spent 
in  journalism  in  the  Middle  West.  Best  known  for  his  poems  of 
childhood,  like  Little  Boy  Blue,  Wynken,  Blynken,  and  Nod, 
Seem"1  Things,  and  Jest  'fore  Christmas.  Died  in  Chicago. 

FORD,  PAUL  LEICESTER  (1865-1902).  Born  in  Brooklyn,  New 
York.  Historian  and  novelist.  Best  novel  The  Honorable  Peter 
Stirling,  based  to  some  extent  on  the  life  of  President  Cleveland. 
In  the  field  of  history,  where  he  seems  likely  to  be  rated  higher 
than  in  the  field  of  pure  literature,  some  of  his  important  works 
are:  The  Many-Sided  Franklin,  The  True  George  Washington, 
The  Works  of  Thomas  Jefferson  (editor),  Essays  on  the  Constitu 
tion  (editor).  Died  in  New  York. 


SUPPLEMENTARY  LIST  OF  AUTHORS        267 

FREEMAN,  MARY  E.  WILKINS  (1862).  Born  in  Massachusetts. 
Has  written  many  sketches  of  New  England  village  life,  with  good 
character  studies:  A  New  England  Nun,  The  Heart's  Highway, 
Understudies,  and  others.  Living  in  Metuchen,  New  Jersey. 

HALE,  EDWARD  EVERETT  (1822-1909).  Born  in  Boston. 
Preacher  and  man  of  letters.  Chaplain,  United  States  Senate,  from 
1903  until  death.  Best-known  story,  The  Man  without  a  Country. 
Died  in  Boston. 

HARRIS,  JOEL  CHANDLER  (1848-1908).  Born  in  Eatonton, 
Georgia.  Editor,  the  Atlanta  Constitution;  and  creator  of  "Uncle 
Remus,"  the  type  of  the  old  Georgia  darkey  "befo'  de  war." 
Died  in  Atlanta. 

HARTE,  FRANCIS  BRET  (1839-1902) .  Born  in  Albany,  New  York. 
Like  Field,  Twain,  Harris,  a  journalist.  Spent  about  twenty  years 
from  1854  in  California,  the  life  of  whose  mining  towns  he  depicted 
in  verse  and  in  prose  tale.  Only  one  poem  of  Harte's  is  widely 
known  to-day  —  Plain  Language  from  Truthful  James  (also  called 
The  Heathen  Chinee).  Many  tales  still  widely  read  and  ranked 
high  by  critics,  among  them  The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp,  The  Out 
casts  of  Poker  Flat,  Tennessee's  Partner,  How  Santa  Glaus  Came 
to  Simpson's  Bar.  Died  in  England. 

HOLLAND,  JOSIAH  GILBERT  (1819-1881).  Born  in  Massachusetts. 
Editor,  first  of  Springfield  Republican,  and  later,  of  The  Century 
Magazine.  Wrote  satirical  essays  under  the  name  of  "  Timothy 
Titcomb"  ;  poems;  and  novels,  which  were  very  popular  in  their 
day,  but  are  now  recognized  as  very  commonplace.  Poems  — 
Katrina,  Bitter  Sweet;  novels — Seven  Oaks,  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 
Died  in  New  York  City. 

Ho  WELLS,  WILLIAM  DEAN  (1837).  Born  in  Ohio,  but  his  literary 
activity  is  connected  chiefly  with  New  York  City,  where  he  has 
been  associated  with  various  magazines.  Although  he  has  produced 
many  kinds  of  literary  work,  he  is  notably  at  his  best  in  realistic 
fiction.  Commonly  caUed  the  "Dean  of  American  Writers."  A 
fair  knowledge  of  Howells  can  be  got  from  Their  Wedding  Journey, 
A  Modern  Instance,  and  The  Rise  of  Silas  Lapham.  Living  in 
New  York  City. 

JAMES,  HENRY  (1849).  Born  in  New  York.  Except  for  the 
accident  of  birth,  James  has  small  title  to  inclusion  among  American 


268  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

writers.  He  was  educated  in  Europe,  and  has  lived  in  England 
since  the  age  of  twenty.  Attitude  towards  things  American  is  foi 
the  most  part  either  patronizing  or  mildly  contemptuous.  Most 
important  works  are  novels,  of  which  The  Portrait  of  a  Lady  and 
The  Princess  Casamassima  are  representative. 

JEWETT,  SARAH  ORNE  (1849-1909).  Born  in  South  Berwick, 
Maine.  Wrote  many  tales  of  New  England  life,  including  Deep- 
haven,  The  Country  of  the  Pointed  Firs,  and  A  Native  of  Winby, 
and  Other  Tales.  Died  in  the  house  in  which  she  was  born,  a 
colonial  mansion  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  old. 

MIFFUN,  LLOYD  (1846).  Born  and  still  lives  in  Columbia,  Penn 
sylvania.  Has  devoted  his  literary  efforts  chiefly  to  sonnet-writing, 

MILLER,  JOAQUIN  (1841-1913).  Born  in  Indiana.  "  The  Poet  of 
the  Sierras."  Treats  in  verse  better  than  Harte's  the  same  sort  of 
subjects  Harte  treated.  Also  farmer,  miner,  lawyer,  judge,  editor. 
Died  in  Oakland,  California. 

MITCHELL,  SILAS  WEIR  (1839-1914).  Born  in  Philadelphia. 
Physician  and  novelist.  After  becoming  widely  known  as  a  special 
ist  in  nervous  diseases,  and  acquiring  financial  independence,  turned 
to  the  occupation  he  had  always  longed  for  —  literature.  Attained 
great  success  in  his  chosen  line.  Best  novel,  perhaps,  is  Hugh 
Wynne,  a  story  of  the  Revolution.  Died  in  Philadelphia. 

MURFREE,  MART  NOAILLES  (1850);  pen-name,  "Charles  Egbert 
Craddock."  Born  in  Murfreesboro,  near  Nashville,  Tennessee. 
Has  succeeded  in  portraying  in  vivid  fashion  the  life  arid  characters 
of  the  Tennessee  mountains.  Some  titles:  In  the  "  Stranger- 
People's"  Country,  The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain,  and  Other 
Stories,  The  Prophet  of  the  Great  Smoky  Mountains,  The  Despot 
of  Broomsedge  Cove.  Still  living  in  Murfreesboro. 

PAGE,  THOMAS  NELSON  (1853).  Born  Hanover  County,  Virginia. 
Lawyer.  Began  literary  career  with  stories  of  ante-toellum  days  in 
Virginia,  collected  under  the  title,  In  Ole  Virginia.  A  longer  story, 
for  children,  Two  Little  Confederates.  Has  also  written  novels,  of 
which  the  most  noteworthy  is  Red  Rock,  dealing  with  the  Recon 
struction  period,  Author  of  some  works  not  fiction  —  The  Negro  : 
The  Southerner's  Problem;  Robert  E.  Lee,  The  Southerner;  and 
Robert  E.  Lee  Man  and  Soldier.  Appointed  Ambassador  to  Italy, 
1913.  Residence  in  Washington,  D.C.,  for  many  years  past. 


SUPPLEMENTARY  LIST  OF  AUTHORS        269 

PARKMAN,  FRANCIS  (1823-1893).  Born  in  Boston.  After  gradu 
ation  from  Harvard,  made  a  tour  of  exploration  through  the  far 
West,  the  result  of  which  was  The  Oregon  Trail.  A  different  sort 
of  result  was  seriously  impaired  health,  which  proved  as  great  a 
handicap  as  Prescott's  accident  proved  to  him.  Like  Prescott, 
however,  Parkman  triumphed  over  his  weakness,  and  produced  a 
notable  series  of  historical  works  usually  referred  to  by  the  general 
title,  France  and  England  in  North  America.  Beginning  with  The 
Conspiracy  of  Pontiac  (1851),  Parkman  was  occupied  with  the 
theme  for  forty  years,  concluding  with  A  Half-Century  of  Conflict 
the  year  before  his  death.  Died  at  Jamaica  Plain,  Massachusetts. 

KILEY,  JAMES  WHITCOMB  (1853).  Born  in  Indiana.  Widely 
known  and  loved  as  the  "  Hoosier  "  poet.  Poems  mostly  in  dialect, 
and  with  a  strong  appeal  to  young  readers.  First  collected  volume, 
The  Old  Swimmiri-Hole,  and  'Leven  More  Poems.  Other  favorite 
works  are  :  Poems  Here  at  Home,  The  Lockerbie  Book,  Eaggedy 
Man,  When  the  Frost  is  on  the  Punkin,  and  Other  Poems,  An  Old 
Sweetheart  of  Mine.  A  biographical  edition  of  his  complete  works 
was  published  in  1913.  Living  in  Indianapolis. 

STEDMAN,  EDMUND  CLARENCE  (1833-1908).  Born  in  Connecti 
cut.  Poet  and  critic.  Of  most  value  for  his  longer  critical  works 
—  Poets  of  America,  and  Victorian  Poets  ;  and  for  the  anthologies 
covering  these  fields.  Died  in  New  York  City. 

VAN  DYKE,  HENRY  (1852).  Born  in  Germantown,  Philadelphia. 
Pastor  in  New  York  City ;  Professor  in  Princeton  University ;  Min 
ister  to  The  Netherlands,  1913.  Poems,  essays,  and  one  story  that 
has  attained  world-wide  fame  —  The  Story  of  the  Other  Wise  Man. 
Essays  collected  under  the  titles  Fisherman's  Luck,  Little  Rivers, 
The  Ruling  Passion,  The  Blue  Flower.  Home,  Princeton,  New 
Jersey. 


SELECTED  LIST  OF  BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CRITICAL  WORKS 

Works  specifically  referred  to  in  the  history  are  followed  in  each 
case  by  the  page  on  which  the  reference  occurs,  and  are  listed  under 
the  names  of  the  biographers  and  critics.  Other  standard  works  not 
so  referred  to,  but  to  which  the  present  writer  —  in  common  with  all 
who  enter  the  field  —  is  largely  indebted,  are  listed  under  the  names  of 
the  authors  with  whom  they  deal.  The  list  pretends  to  be  only  a 
selection.  Abbreviations :  A.  M.  L.,  American  Men  of  Letters, 
Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  Boston;  E.  M.  L.,  English  Men  of  Letters, 
The  Macmillan  Co.,  New  York  ;  Beacon,  Beacon  Biographies,  Small, 
Maynard  &  Co.,  Boston;  G.  W.  S.,  Great  Writers  Series,  Walter 
Scott,  London. 

ARNOLD,  MATTHEW  (pp.   41,  170  ff.)  —  Emerson.     (Discourses  in 

America,  London,  1885.     Macmillan.) 

ARNOLD,  MATTHEW  (p.  92  n.)  —  On  the  Study  of  Poetry.     (Essays 

in  Criticism,  Second  Series,  London,  1888.     Macmillan.) 
ARNOLD,   MATTHEW    (p.    261)  —  A   Guide   to  English  Literature. 

(Mixed  Essays,  London,  1879.     Macmillan.) 
BIGELOW,  JOHN  (pp.  83  ff.)  —  Bryant.     (A.  M.  L.,  1890.) 
BURROUGHS,  JOHN  (p.  244) —  Whitman:  A  Study.     (Boston,  1896. 

Houghton.) 

Bryant.     By  W.  A.  BRADLEY.     (E.  M.  L.,  1905.) 
CABOT,  J.  E.  (pp.  158  ff.) — Memoir  of  Emerson.     (The  standard 

biography.     2  vols.     Boston,  1887.     Houghton.) 

CARPENTER,  G.  R.  (p.  247)—  Whitman.     (A.  M.  L.,  1903.) 
GARY,  EDWARD  (p.  228)  —  Curtis.     (A.  M.  L.,  1894.) 
CLYMER,  W.  S.  B.  (pp.  96  ff.)  —  Cooper.     (Beacon,  1901.) 
CONWAY,  M.  D.  (p.  120  )  —  Hawthorne.     (G.  W.  S.,  1890.) 
CURTIS,  GEO.  TICKNOR  (p.  134)  —  Webster.     (2  vols.     New  York, 

1870.     Appleton.) 

CURTIS,  GEO.  WILLIAM  (pp.  87,  92)  — Bryant.  (Orations  and  Ad 
dresses,  Vol.  III.  New  York,  1894.  Harpers.) 

GARNETT,  R.  (p.  166)  —Emerson.     (G.  W.  S.,  1888.) 

270 


BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CRITICAL  WORKS      271 

GODDARD,  H.  C.  (p.  161)  —  Studies  in  New  England  Transcen 
dentalism.  (New  York,  1908.  Columbia  University  Press.) 

GODWIN,  PARKE  (p.  86)  —  Bryant.  (The  standard.  2  vols.  New 
York,  1883.  Appleton.) 

HARRISON,  J.  A.  (p.  115)  —  Life  and  Letters  of  Poe.  (2  vols.  New 
York,  1902.  Crowell.) 

HAWTHORNE,  JULIAN  (p.  123) — Nathaniel  Hawthorne  and  His 
Wife.  (2  vols.  Boston,  1885.  Houghton.) 

Hawthorne.     By  G.  E.  WOODBERRY.     (A.  M.  L.,  1903.) 

HOLMES,  0.  W.  (pp.  167  ff.)  —Emerson.     (A.  M.  L.,  1884.) 

Irving  :  Life  and  Letters.  By  PIERRE  M.  IRVING.  (The  stand 
ard.  3  vols.  New  York,  1869.  Putnams.) 

LANIER,  SIDNEY  (pp.  221,  244)  —  Letters.  (New  York,  1899. 
Scribners.) 

Lanier.     By  EDWIN  MIMS.     (Boston,  1905.     Houghton.) 

Lanier  :  A  Memorial.  By  W.  H.  WARD.  (In  Complete  Poems  of 
Sidney  Lanier,  New  York,  1884.  Scribners.) 

Lincoln.  By  NICOLAY  and  HAY,  the  President's  secretaries.  (The 
standard.  2  vols.  New  York,  1894.  The  Century  Co.) 

LODGE,  H.  C.  (p.  134)  —  Webster.  (American  Statesmen  Series, 
Boston,  1883.  Houghton.) 

Longfellow  :  Life  and  Letters.  By  SAMUEL  L.  LONGFELLOW. 
(The  standard.  3  vols.  Boston,  1891.  Houghton.) 

LOUNSBURY,  T.  R.  (pp.  96  ff.)  —  Cooper.     (A.  M.  L.,  1882.) 

LOWELL,  J.  R.  (pp.  202  8.)  —  Letters,  edited  by  Charles  Eliot 
Norton.  (New  York,  1894.  Scribners.) 

Lowell:  A  Biography.  By  H.  E.  SCUDDER.  (The  standard.  2 
vols.  Boston,  1901.  Houghton.) 

Lowell  and  His  Friends.  By  E.  E.  HALE.  (Boston,  1901. 
Houghton.) 

MATTHEWS,  BRANDER  (p.  69)  —  Introduction  to  S.  L.  Whitcomb's 
Chronological  Outlines  of  American  Literature.  (New  York,  1894. 
Macmillan.) 

MATTHEWS,  BRANDER  (p.  69)—  American  Literature.  (New 
York,  1896.  American  Book  Co.) 

MORSE,  J.  T.,  Jr.  (pp.  258  ff.)  —  Holmes  :  Life  and  Letters.  (The 
standard.  2  vols.  Boston,  1896.  Houghton.) 

Motley.     By  0.  W.  HOLMES.     (A.  M.  L.,  1878.) 

PAGE,  C.  H.,  editor  (p.  254)  —  The  Chief  American  Poets.  (Boston, 
1905.  Houghton.) 


272  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

PERRY,  BLISS  (p.  246)  —  Whitman.     (Boston,   1906.     Houghton.) 

PICKARD,  S.  T.  (p.  240)—  Life  and  Letters  of  Whittier.  (The 
standard.  2  vols.  Boston,  1895.  Houghton.) 

Poe.     By  JOHN  MAC Y.     (Beacon,  1907.) 

KICHARDSON,  C.  F.  (p.  135)  —  American  Literature.  (2  vols. 
New  York,  1886-8.  Putnams.) 

SMYTH,  A.  H.,  editor  (p.  39)  —  Works  of  Franklin.  (10  vols. 
New  York,  1905.  Macmillan.) 

Thoreau.     By  PI.  S.  SALT.     (G.  W.  S.,  1896.) 

Thoreau.     By  F.  B.  SANBORN.     (A.  M.  L.,  1882.) 

TRENT,  W.  P.  (pp.  251,  261)  —  American  Literature.  (New  York, 
1903.  Appleton.) 

TYLER,  M.  C.  (p.  9)  —  American  Literature,  1607-1765.  (New 
York,  1878.  Putnams.) 

TYLER,  M.  C.  (pp.  47,  64)—  The  Literary  History  of  the  American 
Revolution.  (2  vols.  New  York,  1897.  Putnams.) 

VON  HOLST,  H.  (p.  143)  —  Calhoun.  (American  Statesmen  Series, 
Boston,  1882.  Houghton.) 

WARNER,  C.  D.  (pp.  72  ft.)— Irving.     (A.  M.  L.,  1881.) 

WENDELL,  B.  (pp.  152,  173) — A  Literary  History  of  America. 
(New  York,  1900.  Scribners.) 

WILSON,  WOODROW  (p.  47) — A  History  of  the  American  People. 
(5  vols.  New  York,  1902.  Harpers.) 

WOODBERRY,  G.  E.  (pp.  105,  114)  —  Poe.  (A.  M.  L.,  1885;  re 
vised  and  enlarged,  2  vols.  Boston,  1909.  Houghton.) 


INDEX 


Abbotsford,  Recollections  of,  79. 
ADAMS,  JOHN,  28,  41,  45,  52,  60. 
ADAMS,  SAMUEL,  41. 
Adams  and  Jefferson,  133. 
ADDISON,  JOSEPH,  35,  73. 
Admirals,  The  Two,  99. 
ALCOTT,  AMOS  B.,  161,  178  ff. 
ALCOTT,  LOUISA  M.,  161,  265. 
ALDBICH,  THOMAS  BAILEY,  265. 
Alhambra,  The,  76. 
ALLAN,  JOHN,  106. 
ALLEN,  JAMES  LANE,  265. 
Almanac,  Poor  Richard's,  36. 
American  Flag,  The,  102. 
American  Magazine,  The  (Colonial 

Period),  28. 

American  Manufacturer,  The,  238. 
American  Scholar,  The,  166. 
Annabel  Lee,  110,  119. 
ARNOLD,  MATTHEW,  41,  92  n.,  170, 

172,  185,  261. 
Arthur  Mervyn,  65. 
Assignation,  The,  108. 
Astoria,  79. 
Atlantic  Monthly,  198,  206,  234,  242, 

255. 
Autobiography  of  Franklin,  31, 34  n., 

35. 
Autocrat  of   the  Breakfast   Table, 

The,  251,  255,  259. 
Autumn  (Thoreau's),  180. 
Axe  and  the  Pine,  The,  153. 

BACON,  FRANCIS,  2,  188. 
Backward     Glance    o'er     Travel'd 

Roads,  A,  250. 
Baltimore  Visiter,  108. 
BALZAC  (Honore  de),  96. 
BANCROFT,  GEORGE,  154. 
BARLOW,  JOEL,  59,  61-62. 


Barneveld,  John  of,  Life  and  Death 

of,  156. 

Battle  of  the  Kegs,  56. 
Bay  Psalm  Book,  The,  12-14,  16. 
BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER,  2. 
Bells  of  San  Bias,  194 
Beowulf,  5. 
Berenice,  110. 

BERKELEY,  SIR  WILLIAM,  25. 
Biglow  Papers,  200,  204. 
Birds  of  Passage,  197. 
BLAIR,  ROBERT,  88. 
Blithedale  Romance,  121,  124. 
Bonneville,  Adventures  of  Captain, 

79. 

Boston  News-Letter,  28. 
Bowdoin  College,  120,  189. 
Boijs,  The,  255. 
Bracebridge  Hall,  75. 
BRACKENRIDGE,  HUGH  HENRY,  263. 
BRADFORD,    WILLIAM,     10-11,    18, 

154. 

BRADSTREET,  ANNE,  15-16,  253. 
Brahm,a,  174. 

Brainless,  Adventures  of  Tom,  59. 
BRILLON,  MADAME,  40. 
Broadway  Journal,  113. 
Brook  Farm,  121,  160,  178,  227. 
Broomstick  Train,  260. 
BROWN,   CHARLES   BROCKDEN,  31, 

63,  65-68. 

BROWNING,  MRS.  E.  B.,  84,  118. 
BROWNING,  ROBERT,  84,    172,   185, 

202. 
BRYANT,  WILLIAM  CULLEN,  69,  71, 

72,  81-92,  93,  99,  118,  119,  145,  152, 

162,  175,  188,  202. 
Bunker  Hill  Oration,  133. 
BURNS,  ROBERT,  59,  237. 
BURROUGHS,  JOHN,  179,  244,  265. 


273 


274 


INDEX 


Busy -Body,  36. 
BYBD,  WILLIAM,  263. 
BYRON,  LORD,  71,  92,  185. 

CABLE,  GEORGE  W.,  265. 

CALHOUN,  JOHN  C.,  131,  134,  141- 
144. 

Cambridge  University  (England), 
27,  199,  207. 

CAMPBELL,  THOMAS,  75. 

Gape  Cod,  180. 

CARLYLE,  THOMAS,  135,  158,  159, 
164  ff.,  213. 

Carolina,  146. 

Caty-did,  To  a,  58. 

Causes  of  the  American  Discon 
tents  before  1768,  39. 

Cavalier  Poets,  65. 

Chambered  Nautilus,  The,  251,  255, 
260. 

Character,  171. 

Charleston  College,  147. 

Chattahoochee,  Song  of  the,  221. 

CHAUCER,  2,  5,  64. 

Christian  Slave,  The,  234. 

Christmas,  151. 

Christus,  197. 

CHURCHILL,  WINSTON,  266. 

City  in  the  Sea,  The,  119. 

Clara  Howard,  65. 

CLARKE,  JAMES  FREEMAN,  258. 

CLAY,  HENRY,  135. 

CLEMENS,  SAMUEL  L.  ("  Mark 
Twain"),  262,  266. 

CLEMM,  VIRGINIA,  109. 

CLYMER,  W.  B.  S.,  96  ff. 

COLERIDGE,  SAMUEL  T.,  59,  159, 
185,  186. 

Columbiad,  The,  61. 

Columbia  University,  27,  95. 

Columbus,  Vision  of,  61. 

Columbus,  Voyages  of  the  Com 
panions  of,  76. 

Commemoration  Ode  (Lanier's),  220. 

Commemoration  Ode  (Lowell's),  207. 

Commercial,  Rome  (Ga.) ,  224. 

Commercial  Advertiser,  98. 

Common  Sense,  45. 


Compensation,  167. 
Composition,  Philosophy  of,  118. 
Concord  Centennial,  Ode  at  the,  208. 
Concord  Hymn,  164,  174. 
Condescension  in  Foreigners,  On  a 

Certain,  200. 

Conduct  of  Life,  166,  168. 
Congress,  To  the  Thirty-Ninth,  243 
Conqueror  Worm,  The,  119. 
Conquest  of  Granada,  76,  79. 
Constitution  (Atlanta),  225. 
Contemplations,  16. 
Continentalist,  The,  53. 
Cooper  Institute  Address,  139. 
COOPER,  JAMES  FENIMORE,  68,  69, 

71,  72,  92-102,  119. 
Corn,  218. 

Cotton  Boll,  The,  146,  152,  153. 
COTTON,  JOHN,  263. 
Courant,  New  England,  28. 
Courier,  Rome  (Ga.) ,  224. 
Courtship  of  Miles    Standish,  The, 

81,  189. 

COWPER,  WILLIAM,  88. 
"  CRADDOCK,    CHARLES    EGBERT" 

(Mary  Noailles  Murfree),  268. 
CRAWFORD,  F.  MARION,  262,  266. 
CREVECOJ:UR  (J.  Hector  St.  John), 

131. 

Crisis,  The,  46,  60,  69. 
"  Croakers,"  The,  102-103. 
Crossing  the  Bar,  176. 
Cross  of  Snow,  The,  195. 
Cry  to  Arms,  A,  150. 
Culprit  Fay,  The,  102. 
CURTIS,  GEORGE  TICKNOR,  134. 
CURTIS,  GEORGE  WILLIAM,  87,  92  n., 

227-234,  238. 
Custom  House,  The,  123,  127. 

Daily,  Rome  (Ga.),  224. 

Dante     (Longfellow's    translation), 

197. 

Dartmouth  College,  132. 
Day  of  Doom,  The,  14. 
Deacon's  Masterpiece,  The ;  or,  The 

Wonderful  One  Hoss  Shay,  256, 

260. 


INDEX 


275 


Death  of  Lincoln,  The,  87. 

Declaration  of  Independence,  69. 

Deerslayer,  The,  94,  98. 

Democracy,  201,  208. 

DE  QUINCEY,  71,  186. 

Descent  into  the  Maelstrom,  A,  108. 

Devil  and  Tom  Walker,  The,  76,  80. 

Dial,  The,  161. 

Dogood  Papers,  35. 

Dolph  Heyliger,  76. 

Don  Quixote,  200,  205. 

DOUGLAS,  STEPHEN  A.,  138,  140. 

DOYLE,   SIR  A.  CONAN,  113,  118. 

Dragoon,  The  Bold,  80. 

DRAKE,  JOSEPH  RODMAN,  80  n.,  102- 

103. 

Drake,  On  the  Death  of,  103. 
DRAYTON,  CHIEF  JUSTICE,  43. 
Drowne's  Wooden  Image,  128,  129. 
Drum-Taps,  247. 
Drum-Taps,  Sequel  to,  247. 
Dryad  of  the  Pine,  The,  153. 
DRYDEN,  JOHN,  55. 
Dutch  Republic,  The  Rise  of  the,  156. 
Duty  of  the   American  Scholar  to 

Politics  and  the  Times,  229. 
DWIGHT,  TIMOTHY,  59,  60. 

Each  and  All,  175. 

Edgar  Huntly,  65  ff. 

Edict  of  the  King  of  Prussia,  39. 

EDWARDS,  JONATHAN,  17,  20-23,  29, 
88. 

ELIOT,  GEORGE,  84. 

ELIOT,  JOHN,  12,  14. 

Elsie  Venner,  256. 

Emancipation  from  British  Depend 
ence  ("A  Political  Litany"),  55, 
58. 

Embargo,  The,  87. 

Emerson  (life  by  Holmes),  256. 

EMERSON,  RALPH  WALDO,  41,  70, 
84,  122,  158  n.,  159,  162-176,  177  ff., 
198,201,  230,261. 

Endicott  and  the  Red  Cross,  123, 128. 

English  Novel,  The  (Lanier),  219. 

English  Traits,  168. 

Essays  (Emerson's),  167-168. 


Essays  to  Do  Good,  18,  35. 
Ethnogenesis,  150. 
Eutaw  Springs,  58. 
Evangeline,  187,  195. 
EVERETT,  EDWARD,  139,  159. 
Excursions,  180. 
Exile's  Departure,  The,  237. 
Experience,  159. 

Fable  for  Critics,  A,  70,  90,  117,  204. 

Faerie  Queene,  The,  120. 

Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher,  111. 

Fanshawe,  121. 

Farewell  Address,  47. 

Federalist,  The,  53,  69. 

FIELD,  EUGENE,  262,  266. 

First  Settlement  of  New  England, 

133. 

Flood  of  Years,  The,  85  n.,  87. 
Flower-Life,  153. 
FORD,  PAUL  LEICESTER,  266. 
Foreign  Lajids,  To,  244. 
Forest  Hymn,  A,  85  n.,  89. 
FRANKLIN,  BENJAMIN,  18,  29,  31-41, 

50,  55,  62,  63,  65,  71. 
Freedom  of  the  Will,  21. 
FREEMAN,  MARY  E.  WILKINS,  267. 
Freeman,  Pennsylvania,  240. 
FREILIGRATH  (Ferdinand) ,  194  ff . 
FRENEAU,  PHILIP,  31,  54,  56^59. 
FULLER,  MARGARET,  161. 

GARRISON,   WILLIAM   LLOYD,   131, 

139,  237. 

GAY  (John) ,  55. 
Gazette,  Boston,  28. 
Gazette,  Haverhill,  238. 
Gazette,  New  York,  28. 
Gazette,  Pennsylvania,  33. 
General  Magazine,  28. 
Genius  of  Universal  Emancipation 

131. 

Georgia,  University  of,  145,  224. 
Gettysburg  Address,  139. 
Gladness  of  Nature,  89. 
Glasgow,  University  of,  169. 
GODFREY,  THOMAS,  31,  63-65. 
Gold  Bug,  113. 


276 


INDEX 


Golden  Legend,  195. 
GOLDSMITH,  OLIVER,  79. 

GOODELL,    WlLLAM,  131. 

GRADY,  HENRY  WOODFIN,  223-226. 

Graham's  Magazine,  111. 

Granada,  Conquest  of,  76,  79. 

Grandfather's  Chair,  129. 

GRAY  (Thomas),  92  n. 

Gray  Champion,  The,  128. 

Great  Stone  Face,  The,  125,  133. 

GREELEY,  HORACE,  180. 

Green  River,  89. 

GRISWOLD,  RUFUS  WILMOT,  117. 

Guardian  Angel,  The,  256. 

HALE,  EDWARD  EVERETT,  267. 

HALLECK,  FITZ-GREENE,  192-103. 

HAMILTON,  ALEXANDER,  30,  53,  69, 
70. 

Hamilton,  Calhoun's  Letter  to  Gov 
ernor,  143. 

Hdmpton  Beach,  234. 

HANCOCK,  JOHN,  41. 

Hanging  of  the  Crane,  198. 

HARDY,  THOMAS,  261. 

Harper's  Magazine,  227,  229. 

Harper's  Weekly,  230. 

HARRIS,  JOEL  CHANDLER,  267. 

[[ARTE,  FRANCIS  BRET,  267. 

Hartford  Wits,  59. 

Harvard  College,  14,  27,  41,  156, 158, 
162,  177,  189,  201,  204,  242,  254. 

Haunted  Palace,  119. 

HAWTHORNE,  NATHANIEL,  68,  69, 
70,  75,  80,  84,  104,  118, 119-130, 161, 
162,  185,  189,  199,  201,  243,  261. 

HAYES,  JOHN  RUSSELL,  242. 

HAYNE,  PAUL  HAMILTON,  131,  145- 
154. 

HAYNE,  ROBERT  Y.,  133,  142,  147. 

HAZLITT,  WILLIAM,  71,  186. 

Height  of  the  Ridiculous,  260. 

Helen,  To,  110. 

HENRY,  PATRICK,  30,  43-45,  47,  50, 
52. 

Herald,  Atlanta,  224. 

Herald,  New  York,  225. 

Heroes  and  Hero- Worship,  168. 


Herons  of  Elmwood,  198. 
HERRICK,  ROBERT,  65. 
Hiawatha,  187,  194,  197. 
History  of  New  England,  11. 
History    of  Plymouth    Plantation, 

10. 
History  of  the  United  Netherlands, 

156. 

History  of  the  United  States,  154. 
History  of  Travaile  into    Virginia 

Britannia,  8. 

HOLLAND,  JOSIAH  GILBERT,  267. 
HOLMES,  OLIVER  WENDELL,  84,  87, 

176,  198,  243,  251-260. 
Holmes,    To,    on   his    Seventy-fifth 

Birthday,  251. 

HOMER  (Bryant's  translation),  85. 
Honey  Bee,  On  a,  58. 
HOPKINSON,  FRANCIS,  56,  59,  65. 
House  of  the  Seven  Gables,  124. 
Howadji,  Nile  Notes  of  a,  229. 
Howadji  in  Syria,  229. 
HOWE,  JULIA  WARD,  84. 
HOWELLS,  WILLIAM  DEAN,  232,  262, 

267. 

Humble  Bee,  175. 
HUME  (David),  54. 
Hurricane,  The,  89. 
Huskers,  The,  235. 
HUTCHINSON,  THOMAS,  154. 
Hymn  to  Death,  82. 
Hyperion,  195. 

Ichabod,  135,  234. 

Iliad  (Bryant's  translation),  85. 

Inaugural   (Washington's),  47. 

Inaugurals  (Lincoln's),  139. 

Independence  Hall,  Speech  in  (Lin 
coln's),  139. 

Independent  Reflector,  28. 

Infidelity,  Triumph  of,  60. 

In  Harbor,  148. 

In  School-Days,  243. 

Investigator,  131. 

IRVING,  WASHINGTON,  69,  70,  71-81 
82,  92,  145,  192,  201. 

IRVING,  WILLIAM,  73. 

Iqrafel,  110. 


INDEX 


277 


JAMES,  HENRY,  120  n.,  267. 

Jane  Talbot,  65. 

JAY,  JOHN,  53. 

JEFFERSON,  THOMAS,  50-52,  54,  57 

69,  131. 

JEWETT,  SARAH  ORNE,  268. 
Johns  Hopkins  University,  The,  219 
JOHNSON,  SAMUEL,  54,  55,  61. 
JONSON,  BEN,  2. 
Journal,  Albany,  98. 
Journal,  Broadway,  113. 
Journal  (Woolman's),  62. 
Justice  and  Expediency,  240. 

Kavanagh,  195. 

KEATS,  JOHN,  92,  154,  172,  185,  213. 
KENNEDY,  JOHN  P.,  105,  263. 
KIPLING,  RUDYARD,  261 . 
Knickerbocker  History,  69,  74. 
Knickerbocker  Writers,  71,  88,  95, 
102. 

LAMB,  CHARLES,  71,  172,  186. 

LANIER,  SIDNEY,  214-223,  244,  249. 

Last  Leaf,  The,  260. 

Last  of  the  Mohicans,  The,  100. 

Launfal,  Vision  of  Sir,  The,  200, 
204. 

Laus  Deo,  242. 

Leather-Stocking  Tales,  The,  94,  98, 
100. 

Leaves  of  Grass,  246,  250. 

LEE,  RICHARD  HENRY,  43. 

Legacy  (Washington's),  47. 

Lenore,  119. 

Letter  to  Greeley  (Lincoln's),  139. 

Letter  to  his  Countrymen  (Coo 
per's),  96. 

Letter  to  Mrs.  Bixby  (Lincoln's), 
139. 

Letters  and  Social  Aims,  168. 

Letters  from  the  East,  84. 

Letters  of  an  American  Farmer,  131. 

Letters  of  a  Traveler,  84,  90. 

Liberator,  The,  131. 

Liberty  or  Death,  69. 

Life  and  Song,  223. 

Life  of  Columbus,  76 


Life  of  Washington  (Irviug's),  80. 

Ligeia,  111. 

Lily  Confidante,  The,  153. 

LINCOLN,  ABRAHAM,  69,  84,  87,  131, 
132,  136-141,  185,  207,  228. 

Literary  Friends  and  Acquaint 
ances,  232  n. 

Little  People  of  the  Snow,  The,  87. 

LODGE,  H.  C.  (Webster),  134. 

LONGFELLOW,  HENRY  WADS- 
WORTH,  81.  84,  87,  117,  120,  132, 
162,  186-200,  201, 202,  204,  214,  243, 
261. 

Lost  Occasion,  The,  135. 

Lost  Youth,  My,  197. 

Lotus-Eating,  229. 

LOUNSBURY,  T.  R.  (Cooper),  96  if. 

LOWELL,  JAMES  RUSSELL,  36,  70, 
75,  84,  87,  105,  113,  117,  121,  132, 
140,  145,  162,  167,  184,  194,  198, 
199,  200-213,  214,  231,  251,  252. 

LUNDY,  BENJAMIN,  131. 

Lyrical  Ballads,  59. 

MABIE,  HAMILTON  WRIGHT,  145. 
McFingal,  60. 
MADISON,  JAMES,  35,  53,  57. 
Maelstrom,  A  Descent  into  the,  108. 
Magnolia  Christi  Americana,  18. 
Maine  Woods,  180. 
MALORY,  SIR  THOMAS,  2. 
Marble  Faun,  The,  125, 127, 130. 
Marco  Bozzaris,  103. 
MARLOWE  (Christopher),  2. 
Massachusetts  to  Virginia,  234. 
MATHER,  COTTON,  14,  17-19,  29,  88, 

154. 

VIATHER,  INCREASE,  14. 
VIATHER,  RICHARD,  12,  14. 
MATHER,  SAMUEL,  20. 
MATTHEWS,  BRANDER,  69,  80  n. 
May-Day  and  Other  Pieces,  168. 
Maypole  of  Merry  Mount,  11  n.,  128 
Mercury,  American  Weekly,  28. 
MEREDITH,  GEORGE,  172,  261. 
Merrimac,  The,  234. 
Messenger,  Southern  Literary,  110. 
MIFFLIN,  LLOYD,  268. 


278 


INDEX 


MILLER,  CINCINNATUS,  H.   ("Joa- 

quin"),  268. 
MILTON,  JOHN,  54, 188. 
Minister's  Black  Veil,  123,  129. 
Mirror,  New  York  Evening,  113. 
MITCHELL,  SILAS  WEIR,  268. 
Monadnoc,  175. 
Monikins,  The,  96. 
Morella,  110. 
Morituri  Salutamus,  198. 
MORRIS,  WILLIAM,  185, 
Mortal  Antipathy,  A,  256. 
Mosses  from  an   Old   Manse,  123, 

129. 

Mother-Land,  My,  150. 
MOTLEY,  JOHN  LOTHROP,  154,  156- 

158. 

Motley  (life  by  Holmes) ,  256. 
MS.  Found  in  a  Bottle,  108. 
Murders  in  the  Rue  Morgue,  113. 
MURFREE,    MARY     N.     ("  Charles 

Egbert  Craddock"),  268. 
Music  and  Poetry,  215. 
Musketaquid,  175. 
My  Garden  Acquaintance,  200. 
My  Springs,  218. 

Natural  History  of  Massachusetts, 

181. 

Nature  (Emerson's),  164. 
Navy,  History  of  the  United  States, 

98. 

Ned  Myers,  93. 
New   England    Birds,    Notes    on, 

180. 

New  England  Review,  238. 
New  England  Tragedies,  197. 
News-Letter,  Boston,  28. 
New  South,  The,  224. 
Newstead  Abbey,   Abbotsford  and, 

79. 

Nile  Notes  of  a  Howadji,  229. 
North  American  Review,  88,  206. 
NORTON,  CHARLES  ELIOT,  206. 
Note-Books  (Hawthorne's),  130. 

0  Captain  1  my  Captain,  247. 
Ode  (Lowell's) ,  202. 


Odyssey  (Bryant's  translation),  85, 
Oglethorpe  College,  215. 
Old  Ironsides,  254. 
"  OLDSTYLE,  JONATHAN,"  73,  74. 
On  a  Honey  Bee,  58. 
One-Hoss  Shay,  256,  260. 
Ormond,  65,  66. 
Orphic  Sayings,  161. 
OSSOLI,  MARGARET  FULLER,  161. 
OTIS,  JAMES,  30,  41-43,  46,  50. 
Our  Hundred  Days  in  Europe,  258 
Our  Martyrs,  151. 
Our  Old  Home,  126. 
Over-Soul,  The,  167. 
Over  the  Teacups,  256. 
Oxford  (University,   England),  27 
70,  78,  199,  207,  213. 

PAGE,  THOMAS  NELSON,  268. 
PAINE,  THOMAS,  30,  45-47,50,  60,  65. 
PARKMAN,  FRANCIS,  154,  155,  269. 
Parson  TureWs  Legacy,  260. 
Pathfinder,  The,  98,  100,  101. 
PAULDING,  JAMES  K.,  73,  264. 
Penn  Magazine,  111. 
Pennsylvania  Freeman,  240. 
Pennsylvania,  University  of,  27,  33. 
PERRY,  BLISS,   246. 
"PERRY,  EDGAR  A.,"  107. 
PHILLIPS,  WENDELL,  226. 
Philosophical     Society,     American, 

33,  95. 

Philosophy  of  Composition,  118. 
PIERCE,  FRANKLIN,  120. 
Pilgrim's  Progress,  The,  120. 
Pilot,  The,  93,  95,  99. 
Pioneer,  The,   113. 
Pioneers,  The,  94,  100. 
Pirate,  The,  95. 
POE,  EDGAR  ALLAN,  68,  69,  70,  80, 

87,  91,  104-119,  128,  154,  174,  185, 

188,  204,  223,  261. 
Poet,  The  (Bryant's),  91. 
Poet  and  His  Songs,  The,  188. 
Poet  at  the  Breakfast  Table,  The, 

256. 

Poetic  Principle,  The,  118. 
Politics,  171. 


INDEX 


279 


Poor  Richard's  Almanac,  36. 

POPE,  ALEXANDER,  55,  64. 

Post,  Boston  Evening,  28. 

Post,  Evening  (N.  Y.),  82, 102. 

Potiphar  Papers,  229. 

Prairie,  The,  101. 

Prairies,  Tour  of  the,  79. 

Precaution,  94. 

PRESCOTT,     WILLIAM     HICKLINO, 

154,  264. 

Pretty  Story,  A,  56. 
Prince  of  Parthia,  64. 
Princeton  College,  21,  27,  57. 
P-ofessor  at  the  Breakfast   Table, 

The,  256. 

Prue  and  I,  229,  232-234. 
Public  Duty  of  Educated  Men,  The, 

231. 

Pub  lick  Occurrences,  27. 
Putnam's  Monthly,  230. 
Pym,  Narrative  of  Arthur  Gordon, 

110. 

QUINCY,  JOSIAH,  41. 

RANDOLPH,  EDMUND,  43. 

Rappaccini's  Daughter,  123. 

Raven,  The,  113,  118,  119,  185. 

READ,  THOMAS  BUCHANAN,  264. 

Reconstruction,  140,  206,  224. 

Red  Rover,  The,  93,  99. 

Reply  to  Hayne,  133,  134. 

Representative  Men,  168. 

Revenge  of  Hamish,  The,  215. 

Revieio,  New  England,  238. 

Review,  New  York,  111. 

Rhodora,  The,  175. 

RILEY,  JAMES  WHITOOMB,  262,  269. 

RIPLEY,  GEORGE,  158  n.,  159. 

Rip  Van  Winkle,  76,  80. 

Robert  of  Lincoln,  89. 

Roger  Malvin's  Burial,  128. 

Romanticism,  70,  159. 

Roost,  Wolfert's,  79. 

Rosebuds,  The,  153. 

Rue  Morgue,  Murders  in  the,  113. 

Russell's  Magazine,  152. 

RYAN,  ABRAM  J.,  151. 


Salmagundi  Papers,  73,  74. 

SAND,  GEORGE,  96. 

Sartor  Resartus,  164. 

Scarlet  Letter,  The,  120, 122-123, 129, 

Scene  in  a  Country  Hospital,  150. 

School-Days,  In,  243. 

Science  of  English  Verse,  The,  219. 

SCOTT,  SIR  WALTER,  68,  71,  74,  80, 

95,96. 

Seashore,  The,  175. 
Self -Reliance,  159,  167,  168,  171,  172. 
Sella,  87. 

Selling  of  Joseph,  The,  131. 
Seventh  of  March  Speech,  135. 
SEWALL,  SAMUEL,  131,  263. 
SHAKSPERE,  WILLIAM,  2,  237. 
Shakspere     and     his     Forerunners 

(Lanier's) ,  219. 
SHELLEY,  PSRCY  BYSSHE,  68,  71,  92, 

185. 

Short-story,  Philosophy  of  the,  80  n. 
SIMMS,  WILLIAM  GILMORP:,  264. 
Sinners  in  the  Hands  of  an  Angry 

God,  22. 

Sketch  Book,  The,  70,  75. 
Skipper  Ireson's  Ride,  234. 
Sleep  of  Plants,  On  the,  58. 
Sleepy  Hollow,  Legend  of,  80. 
SMITH,  CAPTAIN  JOHN,  5-8,  10,  11, 

154. 

SMITH,  SYDNEY,  70. 
Snoiv-Bound,  235,  236,  240. 
Snow-Storm,  The,  174. 
Society  and  Solitude,  168. 
South     Carolina,    Address    to    the 

People  of,  142. 

South  Carolina  Exposition,  The,  142. 
South  Carolinian,  146. 
Southern   Literary  Messenger,   110, 

146. 
Spain,  Legends  of  the  Conquest  of. 

79, 

Spanish  Student,  The,  195. 
Spectator  (Addison's),  35,  73. 
SPENSER,  EDMUND,  2.       . 
Sphinx,  The,  174. 
Spiritual  Laws,  159. 
Spring  (Thoreau's),  180. 


280 


INDEX 


Spy,  The,  94,  95. 

Standish,  Miles,   Courtship    of,   81, 

189, 197. 

Stanzas  on  Freedom,  132. 
STEDMAN,  EDMUND  CLARENCE,  269. 
Stirrup  Cup,  The,  215. 
Stout  Gentleman,  The,  76. 
STOWE,  HARRIET  BEECHER,  264. 
STRACHEY,    WILLIAM,   8-9,   10,   Jl, 

154. 

Stylus,  The,  113. 
Summary    View  of  the    Rights  of 

British  America,  A,  52. 
Summer  (Thoreau's),  180. 
SWIFT,  JONATHAN,  55. 
SWINBURNE  (Algernon  C.),  185,  261. 
Symphony,  The,  215,  221. 

Tales  of  a  Traveller,  76. 
Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn,  197. 
Tales  of  the  Folio  Club,  108. 
Tales   of   the  Grotesque    and  Ara 
besque,  111. 

Tamerlane  and  Other  Poems,  107. 
Tanglewood  Tales,  129. 
TAYLOR,  BAYARD,  84,  218,  236,  264. 
Tempest,  The,  9. 
TENNYSON,  ALFRED,  118,  119,  154, 

176,  185,  188,  202. 
Tenth  Muse,  The,  15. 
Terminus,  148,  176. 
THACKERAY    (William   M.),   70  n., 

172,  259. 

Thanatopsis,  85  n.,  87,  88,  89,  185. 
THOREAU,  HENRY  DAVID,  162,  176- 

184. 

Thoreau  (Lowell's  essay),  162,  200. 
Threnody,  174. 
Tiger  Lilies,  217. 
TIMROD,  HENRY,  131,  145-154,  175, 

242. 

Tintern  Abbey,  88  n. 
Titmouse,  The,  175. 
To  a  Waterfowl,  89. 
Transcendental  Movement,  158-162, 

166. 
Transcendentalists,  59,  71,  121,  176, 

258. 


Tribune,  New  York,  229. 

Triumph  of  Infidelity,  The,  60. 

True  Relation,  A,  6. 

TRUMBULL,  JOHN,  59. 

Trumps,  229. 

"TWAIN,  MARK"  (S.  L.  Clemens), 

262,  266. 

Twice-Told  Tales,  118,  121,  123,  129. 
Two  Armies,  The,  150. 
TYLER,  ROYALL,  55. 

Ulalume,  114,  119. 

Under  the  Old  Elm,  208. 

United  Netherlands,  History  of  the, 

156. 
Usher,  The  Fall  of  the  House  of,  111. 

VAN  DYKE,  HENRY,  269. 

Virginia,  University  of,  51,  105,  106. 

Vision  of  Columbus,  61. 

Vision  of  Sir  Laun/al,    The,  200, 

204. 

Visiter,  Baltimore,  108. 
Voices  of  the  Night,  194. 
Voluntaries,  175. 

Walden,  178-179. 
WARREN,  JOSEPH,  41,  55. 
WASHINGTON,  GEORGE,  47-50. 
Washington  (Irving's  Life  of),  80, 
Waterfowl,  To  a,  89. 
Way  to  Wealth,  The,  29. 
WEARE,  MESHECH,  55. 
WEBSTER,    DANIEL,  69,    131,    132- 

135,  139,  144. 
WEED,  THURLOW,  98. 
Week  on  the  Concord  and  Merrimac 

Rivers,  179. 
When  Lilacs  Last  in  the  Dooryard 

Bloomed,  247. 
Whistle,  The,  40. 
WHITMAN,  SARAH  HELEN,  115. 
WHITMAN,  WALT,  244-251: 
Whittier,  In  Memory  of,  242. 
WHITTIER,  JOHN  GREENLEAF,  119, 

131,   135,   141,   145,   152,    194,  204, 

234-243. 
Wieland,  65,  66,  67. 


INDEX 


281 


WlGGLESWORTH,     MlCHAEL,    14-15, 
16. 

Wild  Honeysuckle,  The,  58. 
William  and  Mary  College,  27,  50. 
WILLIAMS,  ROGER,  263. 
WILLIAM  THE  SILENT,  157. 
William   Wilson,  106. 
WILLIS,  NATHANIEL  P.,  265. 
Winter  (Thoreau's) ,  180. 
WINTHROP,  JOHN,  10, 11-12,  18,154. 
Wish,  The,  64. 
WITHER,  GEORGE,  65. 


Wolfert's  Roost,  79. 
Wonder  Book,  A,  129. 
Woodnotes,  175. 
WOOLMAN,  JOHN,  62,  131. 
WORDSWORTH,  WILLIAM,  59,  70,  71, 

82,  84,  88  n.,  153,  172,  185. 
World-Soul,  The,  175. 

Yale  University,  27,  59,  60,  93,  141. 
Yankee  in  Canada,  A,  180. 
Tear's  Life,  A,  202. 
Young  Goodman  Brown,  128,  129. 


READINGS 


IN 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


CHOSEN    AND    EDITED    BY 

ROY   BENNETT   PACE 

ASSISTANT    PROFESSOR    OF    ENGLISH 
SWARTHMORE    COLLEGE 


ALLYN    AND    BACON 

Boston  RfEfo  gorfc 


COPYRIGHT,    1915,   BY 
ROY  BENNETT  PACE 


AAN 


J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


PREFACE 

THIS  volume  is  designed  to  accompany  the  editor's  Ameri 
can  Literature,  and  the  selections  were  made  to  represent 
the  authors  there  treated.  While  it  is  intended  that  the 
history  and  the  Readings  be  used  together,  the  latter  have 
been  compiled  in  accordance  with  suggestions  from  many 
sources ;  and  the  editor  believes  that  they  will  prove  useful 
with  any  history  of  American  literature. 

No  effort  has  been  made  to  include  college  entrance 
requirements,  most  of  which  are  available  in  cheap  and 
attractive  editions.  On  the  other  hand,  more  space  than  is 
usual  in  a  book  of  this  kind  is  given  to  literature  produced 
before  1800.  This  has  been  done  because  the  material  is 
quaint  and  interesting,  and  is  less  accessible  to  high  school 
students  than  nineteenth  century  writings.  The  editor 
feels  confident  that  results  will  repay  a  generous  expenditure 
of  time  on  the  early  writers. 

In  preparing  the  Readings,  the  best  texts  accessible  have 
been  used ;  but  it  has  not  seemed  necessary  in  a  high  school 
book  to  indicate  the  editions,  unless  required  by  the  copy 
right  provisions  of  the  authorized  publishers. 


ROY  BENNETT  PACE. 


SWARTHMORE    COLLEGE,    PENNSYLVANIA, 

January  1,  1915. 


iii 


READINGS 


From  John  Smith  to  Benjamin  Franklin 
Adventure  with  Opechancanough 
Account  of  a  Tempest  .         .      "  .      ,  . 
The  Twenty-third  Psalm       .         ... 
The  Judgment  of  Infants 

Contemplations ?!i 

Life  at  Merry  Mount    .         .         . 
The  "  Little  Speech  "  on  Liberty 
Character  of  Governor  Bradford  .        .   i 
Sinners  in  the  Hands  of  an  Angry  God 
(extracts)       .        .        .  > 


(1608-1758)  : 

John  Smith  . 
William  Strachey 
The  Bay  Psalm  Book 
Michael  Wigglesworth 
Anne  Bradstreet  . 
William  Bradford 
John  Winthrop    . 
Cotton  Mather 


Jonathan  Edwards 


From  Franklin  to  Irving  (1758-1809) 

"  Silence  Dogood"  on  Drunkenness 
Growth  of  Ill-humor  in  America  . 
Britain's  Dealings  with  her  Colonies  Imitated 
The  Whistle  . 


Benjamin  Franklin 


Liberty  or  Death  .         .         ... 

On  the  Writs  of  Assistance  (extract)    . 
"  Times  that  Try  Men's  Souls  "    «•••.. 
First  Inaugural  (extract) 
Summary  View  of  the  Rights  of  British 

America  (extract)  . 
The  Union  as  a  Safeguard    . 
An  Anti-Slavery  Mission 
The  Battle  of  the  Kegs . 
Paul  Jones    ...... 

The  Riflemen's  Song  at  Bennington     . 
Columbia  .         .         .        .*        . 

McFingal's  Sentence     .... 

Me  FingaPs  Flight  .  . 
Washington  to  His  Troops  . 
Song:  "  For  Chloris "  . 

ToCelia 

The  Prince  of  Parthia  (Act  V,  scene  I) 

v 


Patrick  Henry 
James  Otis  . 
Thomas  Paine 
George  Washington 

Thomas  Jefferson 
Alexander  Hamilton 
John  Woolman    . 
Francis  Hopkinson 
Anonymous  . 
Anonymous  . 
Timothy  Dwight  . 
John  Trumbull    . 

Joel  Barlow 
Thomas  Godfrey  , 


1 

4 

9 

9 

12 

15 

17 

19 

21 


24 
27 
31 
34 
36 
38 
40 
42 

44 

46 
49 
53 
56 
57 
58 
59 
60 
61 
63 
63 
64 


VI 


READINGS 


A  Mysterious  Voice      .        . 

A  Political  Litany         .    -    .   •/  <» 

Eutaw  Springs      .        .    "".''.' 

The  Wild  Honey  Suckle 

Death  Song  of  a  Cherokee  Indian 

May  to  April         .        .  .  H  • 


Charles  Brockden  Brown 
Philip  Freneau    . 


PAGE 

66 

68 
69 
70 
71 

72 


From  Irving  to  the  Close  of  the  War  (1809-1865)  : 


Character  of  Peter  Stuyvesant 

The  Devil  and  Tom  Walker 

Thanatopsis  .         .         .         .         . 

To  a  Waterfowl    .... 

A  Forest  Hymn     .... 

The  Death  of  the  Flowers  '. 

To  the  Fringed  Gentian 

The  Gladness  of  Nature 

Robert  of  Lincoln 

The  Hurricane      .         •        . 

The  Fight  of  the  Ariel  and  the 
Alacrity  . 

On  the  Death  of  Joseph  Rodman 
Drake  .  .  .  .  . 

Marco  Bozzaris      .' 

The  American  Flag       .     v. 

The  Real  Character  of  the  Union 

The  Language  of  Calhoun's  Reso 
lutions  ..... 

"  Showing  His  Hand  " 

Speech  on  Leaving  Springfield  in 
1861 

Shortest  Speech  ,' 

First  Inaugural  (extract) 

Gettysburg  Address 

Letter  to  Mrs.  Bixby     . 

A  Cry  to  Arms      .... 

Ode  at  Magnolia  Cemetery    . 

Flower-life     ..... 

Why  Silent 


Washington  Irving 
William  Cullen  Bryant 


James  Fenimore  Cooper 
Fitz-Greene  Halleck    . 

Joseph  Rodman  Drake 
John  Caldwell  Calhoun 

Daniel  Webster    . 
Abraham  Lincoln 


Henry  Timrod 


72 
75 
90 
92 
93 
97 


99 
101 

103 

112 
112 
116 
118 

120 

125 

126 
127 
127 
127 
128 
129 
130 
131 
132 


READINGS  vii 

PAGB 

Beauregard's  Appeal  .  .  Paul  Hamilton  Hayne  .  .  133 

Forgotten 134 

The  Axe  and  the  Pine  .  136 

Aspects  of  the  Pines 136 

Poets 137 

To  Helen  ....  Edgar  Allan  Foe  .  .  .  137 

Israfel •  ,  •-  .138 

The  Haunted  Palace •  .  .  .  .140 

The  Raven 141 

Ulalume .  .  .  .145 

Annabel  Lee  .  .  . 147 

Morella 149 

The  Short-story 155 

The  Maypole  of  Merry  Mount  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  .  .  .  169 

Browne's  Wooden  Image 172 

Tour  of  William  the  Silent  .  John  Lothrop  Motley  .  .  .  187 

The  Rhodora  .  .  .  Ralph  Waldo  Emersop  .  .  191 

The  Apology 192 

Concord  Hymn  ....  .  .  .  .  .  .  192 

The  Humble-Bee '.  .  ,  .  .193 

Terminus .  195 

The  Nature  of  Government 

(from  Politics) .  196 

The  Coming  of  the  Birds 

(from  Spring}  .  .  Henry  David  Thoreau  .  .  200 

Maimed  Nature  (from  Spring)  ........  202 

From  the  Close  of  the  War  to  the   Deaths  of  Whitman    and 

Whittier  (1865-1892)  : 

The  Beleaguered  City    .        .     Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow     .  204 

The  Building  of  the  Ship 205 

Hiawatha's  Wooing 216 

The  Birds  of  Killingworth 224 

The  Hanging  of  the  Crane    ........  231 

The  Cross  of  Snow 237 

My  Love        ....     James  Russell  Lowell .         .        .  238 

Stanzas  on  Freedom 239 

Commemoration  Ode  (extracts) 240 

Under  the  Old  Elm  (extracts) 248 


Vlll 


READINGS 


Emerson  and  His  Audience  (from 
Emerson  tfie  Lecturer)  . 

White's  "Selborne"  (from  My 
Garden  Acquaintance)  . 

The  True  Nature  of  Democracy 
(from  Democracy) 

My  Springs   .        .         . 

Song  of  the  Chattahooch'ee  .      •  %, 

The  New  South     .         . 

Advantages  of  Not  Traveling 
(from  Prue  and  I) 

Evils  of  Party  Spirit  (from  The 
Public  Duty  of  Educated  Men) 

To  William  Lloyd  Garrison  . 

Proem  .        .    '     . 

Ichabod         

Skipper  Ireson's  Ride   . 

My  Playmate         .... 

Laus  Deo 

In  School-Days     .... 

The  Lost  Occasior 

A  Child's  Question        .      »  . 

Mannahatta  .         .  •     ; •  .        .      % 

O  Captain  !  my  Captain.! 

When  Lilacs  Last  in  the  Dooryard 
Bloomed  (extracts) 

Come,  said  my  Soul 

The  Height  of  the  Ridiculous 

The  Last  Leaf       .         .         .        . 

The  Chambered  Nautilus 

The  Deacon's  Masterpiece    . 

Parson  Turell's  Legacy 

All  Here 

The  Broomstick  Train  . 

The  Episode  of  the  Pie  (from  The 
Autocrat)  .... 

My  Last  Walk  with  the  School 
mistress  (from  The  Autocrat) 

NOTES    .        .         .         . 


Sidney  Lanier  .  •  . 
Henry  Woodfin  Grady 
George  William  Curtis 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 


Walt  Whitman 


Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 


PAGE 

252 

258 

263 
269 
271 

272 

282 

286 
291 
292 
293 
295 
298 
300 
302 
303 
306 
307 
308 

309 
315 
315 
316 
318 
319 
322 
327 
329 

333 

335 

339 


READINGS  IN  AMERICAN 
LITERATURE 

JOHN   SMITH 

Adventure  with  Opechancanough 
(From  A  True  Relation) 

Having  2  Indians  for  my  guide  and  2  of  our  own  com 
pany,  I  set  forward,  leaving  7  in  the  barge :  Having  dis 
covered  20  miles  further  in  this  desart,  the  river  stil  kept 
his  depth  and  bredth,  but  much  more  combred  with  trees : 
Here  we  went  ashore  (being  some  12  miles  higher  then  the  5 
barge  had  bene)  to  refresh  our  selves,  during  the  boyling 
of  our  vituals :  One  of  the  Indians  I  tooke  with  me,  to  see 
the  nature  of  the  soile,  and  to  crosse  the  boughts  of  the 
river :  the  other  Indian  I  left  with  Maister  Robbinson  and 
Thomas  Emry,  with  their  matches  light,  and  order  to  dis- 10 
charge  a  peece,  for  my  retreat,  at  the  first  sight  of  any 
Indian.  But  within  a  quarter  of  an  houre  I  heard  a  loud 
cry,  and  a  hollowing  of  Indians,  but  no  warning  peece. 
Supposing  them  surprised,  and  that  the  Indians  had  betraid 
us,  presently  I  seazed  him  and  bound  his  arme  fast  to  my  15 
hand  in  a  garter,  with  my  pistoll  ready  bent  to  be  revenged 
on  him :  he  advised  me  to  fly,  and  seemed  ignorant  of  what 
was  done.  But  as  we  Went  discoursing,  I  was  struck  with 
an  arrow  on  the  right  thigh,  but  without  harme :  upon  this 
occasion  I  espied  2  Indians  drawing  their  bowes,  which  1 20 
prevented  in  discharging  a  french  pistoll :  By  that  I  had 
charged  againe,  3  or  4  more  did  the  like :  for  the  first  fell 
downe  and  fled :  At  my  discharge,  they  did  the  like.  My 

1 


2  AMERICAN    LITERATURE 

hinde  I  made  my  barricade,  who  offered  not  to  strive.     20. 

25  or  30.  arrowes  were  shot  at  me  but  short.  3  or  4  times  I  had 
discharged  my  pistoll  ere  the  king  of  Pamaunck  called 
Opeckankenough  with  200  men,  invironed  me,  cache  drawing 
their  bowe :  which  done  they  laid  them  upon  the  ground, 
yet  without  shot :  My  hinde  treated  betwixt  them  and  me 

30  of  conditions  of  peace ;  he  discovered  me  to  be  the  Captaine : 
my  request  was  to  retire  to  the  boate :  they  demanded  my 
armes,  the  rest  they  saide  were  slaine,  onely  me  they  would 
reserve:  The  Indian  importuned  me  not  to  shoot.  In  re 
tiring  being  in  the  midst  of  a  low  quagmire,  and  minding 

35  them  more  then  my  steps,  I  stept  fast  into  the  quagmire, 
and  also  the  Indian  in  drawing  me  forth  : 

Thus  surprised,  I  resolved  to  trie  their  mercies :  my 
armes  I  caste  from  me,  till  which  none  durst  approch  me. 
Being  ceazed  on  me,  they  drew  me  out  and  led  me  to  the 

40  King.  I  presented  him  with  a  compasse  diall,  describing 
by  my  best  meanes  the  use  therof :  whereat  he  so  amazedly 
admired,  as  he  suffered  me  to  proceed  in  a  discourse  of  the 
roundnes  of  the  earth,  the  course  of  the  sunne,  moone, 
starres  and  plannets.  With  kinde  speeches  and  bread  he 

45  requited  me,  conducting  me  where  the  Canow  lay  and  John 
Robbinson  slaine,  with  20  or  30.  arrowes  in  him.  Emry  I 
saw  not. 

I  perceived  by  the  aboundance  of  fires  all  over  the  woods. 
At  each  place  I  expected  when  they  would  execute  me,  yet 

50  they  used  me  with  what  kindnes  they  could:  Approaching 
their  Towne,  which  was  within  6  miles  where  I  was  taken, 
onely  made  as  arbors  and  covered  with  mats,  which  they 
remove  as  occasion  requires :  all  the  women  and  children, 
being  advertised  of  this  accident,  came  foorth  to  meet  them, 

55  the  King  well  guarded  with  20  bowmen  5  flanck  and  rear, 
and  each  flanck  before  him  a  sword  and  a  peece,  and  after 
him  the  like,  then  a  bowman,  then  I  on  each  hand  a  bowe- 


JOHN    SMITH  3 

man,  the  rest  in  file  in  the  reare,  which  reare  led  foorth 
amongst  the  trees  in  a  bishion,  cache  his  bowe  and  a  hand- 
full  of  arrowes,  a  quiver  at  his  back  grimly  painted :  on  60 
cache  flanck  a  sargeant,  the  one  running  alwaies  towards 
the  front,  the  other  towards  the  reare,  each  a  true  pace  and 
in  exceeding  good  order.  This  being  a  good  time  continued, 
they  caste  themselves  in  a  ring  with  a  daunce,  and  so  cache 
man  departed  to  his  lodging.  The  Captain  conducting  me  65 
to  his  lodging,  a  quarter  of  Venison  and  some  ten  pound  of 
bread  I  had  for  supper:  what  I  left  was  reserved  for  me, 
and  sent  with  me  to  my  lodging:  Each  morning  3.  women 
presented  me  three  great  platters  of  fine  bread,  more  venison 
then  ten  men  could  devour  I  had :  my  gowne,  points  and  70 
garters,  my  compas  and  my  tablet  they  gave  me  again. 
Though  8  ordinarily  guarded  me,  I  wanted  not  what  they 
could  devise  to  content  me :  and  still  our  longer  acquaint 
ance  increased  our  better  affection  : 

Much  they  threatned  to  assault  our  forte,  as  they  were  75 
solicited  by  the  King  of  Paspahegh:  who  shewed  at  our 
fort  great  signes  of  sorrow  for  this  mischance.     The  King 
tooke  great  delight  in  understanding  the  manner  of  our 
ships,  and  sayling  the  seas,  the  earth  and  skies,  and  of  our 
God :  what  he  knew  of  the  dominions  he  spared  not  to  ac-  80 
quaint  me  with,  as  of  certaine  men  cloathed  at  a  place 
called  Ocanahonan,  cloathed  like  me :  the  course  of   our 
river,  and  that  within  4  or  5  daies  journey  of  the  falles, 
was  a  great  turning  of  salt  water :  I  desired  he  would  send 
a  messenger  to  Paspahegh,  with  a  letter  I  would  write,  by  85 
which  they  shold  understand  how  kindly  they  used  me,  and 
that  I  was  well,  least  they  should  revenge  my  death.     This 
he  granted  and  sent  three  men,  in  such  weather  as  in  reason 
were  unpossible  by  any  naked  to  be  indured.     Their  cruell 
mindes  towards  the  fort  I  had  deverted,  in  describing  the  90 
ordinance  and   the  mines  in  the  fields,  as  also  the  revenge 


4  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Captain  Newport  would  take  of  them  at  his  returne.  Then 
intent,  I  incerted  the  fort,  the  people  of  Ocanahonum  and 
the  back  sea :  this  report  they  after  found  divers  Indians 

95  that  confirmed : 

The  next  day  after  my  letter,  came  a  salvage  to  my  lodg 
ing,  with  his  sword,  to  have  slaine  me :  but  being  by  my 
guard  intercepted,  with  a  bowe  and  arrow  he  offred  to  have 
effected  his  purpose :  the  cause  I  knew  not,  till  the  King 

100  understanding  thereof  came  and  told  me  of  a  man  a  dying, 
wounded  with  my  pistoll :  he  tould  me  also  of  another  I 
had  slayne,  yet  the  most  concealed  they  had  any  hurte : 
This  was  the  father  of  him  I  had  slayne,  whose  fury  to  pre 
vent,  the  King  presently  conducted  me  to  another  King- 

105  dome,  upon  the  top  of  the  next  northerly  river,  called 
Youghtanan.  Having  feasted  me,  he  further  led  me  to 
another  branch  of  the  river,  called  Mattapament;  to  two 
other  hunting  townes  they  led  me :  and  to  each  of  these 
Countries,  a  house  of  the  great  Emperour  of  Pewhakan, 

110  whom  as  yet  I  supposed  to  bee  at  the  Fals;  to  him  I  tolde 
him  I  must  goe,  and  so  returne  to  Paspahegh.  After  this 
foure  or  five  dayes  marsh,  we  returned  to  Rasa  wrack,  the 
first  towne  they  brought  me  too :  where  binding  the  Mats 
in  bundels,  they  marched  two  dayes  journey,  and  crossed 

115  the  River  of  Youghtanan,  where  it  was  as  broad  as  Thames  : 
so  conducting  me  to  a  place  called  Menapacute  in  Pamaunke, 
where  the  King  inhabited. 

WILLIAM  STRACHEY 
Account  of  a  Tempest 
(From  A  True  Repertory ) 

When  on  S.  James  his  day,  July  24.  being  Monday  (pre 
paring  for  no  lesse  all  the  blacke  night  before)  the  cloudes 
gathering  thicke  upon  us,  and  the  windes  singing,  and 


WILLIAM    STRACHEY  5 

whistling  most  unusually,  which  made  us  to  cast  off  our 
Pinnace,  towing  the  saine  untill  then  asterne,  a  dreadfull  5 
storme  and  hideous  began  to  blow  from  out  the  North-east, 
which  swelling,  and  roaring  as  it  were  by  fits,  some  houres 
with  more  violence  then  others,  at  length  did  beate  all  light 
from  heaven ;  which  like  an  hell  of  darkuesse  turned  blacke 
upon  us,  so  much  the  more  fuller  of  horror,  as  in  such  cases  10 
horror  and  feare  use  to  overrunne  the  troubled,  and  over 
mastered  sences  of  all,  which  (taken  up  with  amazement) 
the  eares  lay  so  sensible  to  the  terrible  cries,  and  murmurs 
of  the  windes,  and  distraction  of  our  Company,  as  who  was 
most  armed,  and  best  prepared,  was  not  a  little  shaken.  15 

###=*=*# 
For  foure  and  twenty  houres  the  storme  in  a  restlesse 
tumult,  had  blowne  so  exceedingly,  as  we  could  not  appre 
hend  in  our  imaginations  any  possibility  of  greater  violence, 
yet  did  wee  still  finde  it,  not  onely  more  terrible,  but  more 
constant,  fury  added  to  fury,  and  one  storme  urging  a  second  20 
more  outragious  then  the  former;   whether  it  so  wrought 
upon  our  feares,  or  indeede  met  with  new  forces :     Some 
times  strikes  in  our  Ship  amongst  women,  and  passengers, 
not  used  to  such  hurly  and  discomforts,  made  us  looke  one 
upon  the  other  with  troubled  hearts,  and  panting  bosomes :  25 
our  clamours  dround  in  the  windes,  and  the  windes  in  thun 
der.     *     *     *     Our  sailes  wound  up  lay  without  their  use, 
and  if  at  any  time  wee  bore  but  a  Hollocke,  or  halfe  fore- 
course,  to  guide  her  before  the  Sea,  six  and  sometimes  eight 
men  were  not  inough  to  hold  the  whipstaffe  in  the  steerage,  30 
and  the  tiller  below  in  the  Gunner  roome,  by  which  may  be 
imagined  the  strength  of  the  storme :    In  which,  the  Sea 
swelled  above  the  Clouds,  and  gave  battell  unto  Heaven.     It 
could  not  be  said  to  raine,  the  waters  like  whole  Rivers  did 
flood  in  the  ay  re.     And  this  I  did  still  observe,  that  wheras  35 
upon  the  Land,  when  a  storme  hath  powred  it  selfe  forth 


6  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

once  in  drifts  of  raine,  the  winde  as  beaten  downe,  and  van 
quished  therewith,  not  long  after  indureth  :  here  the  glut  of 
water  (as  if  throatling  the  winde  ere  while)  was  no  sooner  a 

40  little  emptied  and  qualified,  but  instantly  the  windes  (as 
having  gotten  their  mouthes  now  free,  and  at  liberty)  spake 
more  loud,  and  grew  more  tumultuous,  and  malignant. 

****** 
Howbeit  this  was  not  all;   It   pleased  God  to  bring  a 
greater  affliction  yet  upon  us;  for  in  the  beginning  of  the 

45  storme  we  had  received  likewise  a  mighty  leake.  And  the 
Ship  in  every  joynt  almost,  having  spued  out  her  Oakam, 
before  we  were  aware  (a  casualty  more  desperate  then  any 
other  that  a  Voyage  by  Sea  draweth  with  it)  was  growne  five 
foote  suddenly  deepe  with  water  above  her  ballast,  and  we 

50  almost  drowned  within,  whilst  we  sat  looking  when  to  perish 
from  above.  This  imparting  no  lesse  terrour  then  danger, 
ranne  through  the  whole  Ship  with  much  fright  and  amaze 
ment,  startled  and  turned  the  bloud,  "and  tooke  downe  the 
braves  of  the  most  hardy  Marriner  of  them  all,  insomuch  as 

55  he  that  before  happily  felt  not  the  sorrow  of  others,  now 
began  to  sorrow  for  himselfe,  when  he  saw  such  a  pond  of 
water  so  suddenly  broken  in,  and  which  he  knew  could  not 
(without  present  avoiding)  but  instantly  sinke  him.  So  as 
joyning  (onely  for  his  owne  sake,  not  yet  worth  the  saving) 

60  in  the  publique  safety ;  there  might  be  seene  Master,  Mas 
ters  Mate,  Boateswaine,  Quarter  Master,  Coopers,  Carpenters, 
and  who  not,  with  candels  in  their  hands,  creeping  along  the 
ribs  viewing  the  sides,  searching  every  corner,  and  listening 
'in  every  place,  if  they  could  heare  the  water  runne.     Many 

65  a  weeping  leake  was  this  way  found,  arid  hastily  stopt,  and  at 
length  one  in  the  Gunner  roome  made  up  with  I  know  hot 
how  many  peeces  of  Beefe:  but  all  was  to  no  purpose,  the 
Leake  (if  it  were  but  one)  which  drunk e  in  our  greatest  Seas, 
and  tooke  in  our  destruction  fastest,  could  not  then  be  found, 


WILLIAM    STRACHEY  7 

nor  ever  was,  by  any  labour,  counsell,  or  search.     The  waters  70 
still  increasing,  and  the  Pumpes  going,  which  at  length 
choaked  with  bringing  up  whole  and  continuall  Bisket  (and 
indeede  all  we  had,  tenne  thousand  weight)  it  was  conceived, 
as  most  likely,  that  the  Leake  might  be  sprung  in  the  Bread- 
roome,  whereupon  the  Carpenter  went  downe,  and  ript  up  all  75 
the  roome,  but  could  not  finde  it  so. 

*  ***** 

Our  Governour,  upon  the  tuesday  morning  (at  what  time,  by 
such  who  had  bin  below  in  the  hold,  the  Leake  was  first  dis 
covered)  had  caused  the  whole  Company,  about  one  hundred 
and  forty,  besides  women,  to  be  equally  divided  into  three  80 
parts,  and  opening  the  Ship  in  three  places  (under  the  fore 
castle,  in  the  waste,  and  hard  by  the  Bitacke)  appointed 
each  man  where  to  attend ;  and  thereunto  every  man  came 
duely  upon  his  watch,  tooke  the  Bucket,  or  Pumpe  for  one 
houre,  and  rested  another.  Then  men  might  be  seene  to  85 
labour,  I  may  well  say,  for  life,  and  the  better  sort,  even 
our  Governour,  and  Admirall  themselves,  not  refusing  their 
turne,  and  to  spell  each  the  other,  to  give  example  to  other. 
The  common  sort  stripped  naked,  as  men  in  Gallies,  the 
easier  both  to  hold  out,  and  to  shrinke  from  under  the  salt  90 
water,  which  continually  leapt  in  among  them,  kept  their 
eyes  waking,  and  their  thoughts  and  hands  working,  with 
tyred  bodies,  and  wasted  spirits,  three  dayes  and  foure 
nights  destitute  of  outward  comfort,  and  desperate  of  any 
deliverance,  testifying  how  mutually  willing  they  were,  yet  95 
by  labour  to  keepe  each  other  from  drowning,  albeit  each 
one  drowned  whilest  he  laboured. 

Once,  so  huge  a  Sea  brake  upon  the  poope  and  quarter 
upon  us,  as  it  covered  our  Shippe  from  stearne  to  stemme, 
like  a  garment  or  a  vast  cloude,  it  filled  her  brim  me  full  100 
for  a  while  within,  from  the  hatches  up  to  the  sparre  decke. 
This  source  or  confluence  of  water  was  so  violent,  as  it  rusht 


8  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

and  carried  the  Helm-man  from  the  Helme,  and  wrested  the 
Whip-staffe  out  of  his  hand,  which  so  flew  from  side  to  side, 

105  that  when  he  would  have  ceased  the  same  againe,  it  so 
tossed  him  from  Star-boord  to  Lar-boord,  as  it  was  Gods 
mercy  it  had  not  split  him :  It  so  beat  him  from  his  hold, 
and  so  bruised  him,  as  a  fresh  man  hazarding  in  by  chance 
fell  faire  with  it,  and  by  maine  strength  bearing  somewhat 

110  up,  made  good  his  place,  and  with  much  clamour  incouraged 
and  called  upon  others  ;  who  gave  her  now  up,  rent  in  pieces 
and  absolutely  lost.  Our  Governour  was  at  this  time  below 
at  the  Capstone,  both  by  his  speech  and  authoritie  hearten 
ing  every  man  unto  his  labour.  It  strooke  him  from  the 

115  place  where  hee  sate,  and  groveled  him,  and  all  us  about 
him  on  our  faces,  beating  together  with  our  breaths  all 
thoughts  from  our  bosomes,  else,  then  that  wee  were  now 
sinking.  *  *  *  It  so  stun'd  the  ship  in  her  full  pace, 
that  shee  stirred  no  more,  then  if  shee  had  beene  caught  in 

120  a  net,  or  then,  as  if  the  fabulous  Remora  had  stucke  to  her 
fore-castle.  Yet  without  bearing  one  inch  of  saile,  even 
then  shee  was  making  her  way  nine  or  ten  leagues  in  a 
watch.  One  thing,  it  is  not  without  his  wonder  (whether 
it  were  the  feare  of  death  in  so  great  a  storme,  or  that  it 

125  pleased  God  to  be  gracious  unto  us)  there  was  not  a  passen 
ger,  gentleman,  or  other,  after  hee  beganne  to  stirre  and 
labour,  but  was  able  to  relieve  his  fellow,  and  make  good 
his  course :  And  it  is  most  true,  such  as  in  all  their  life 
times  had  never  done  houres  worke  before  (their  mindes  now 

130  helping  their  bodies)  were  able  twice  fortie  eight  houres  to 
gether  to  toile  with  the  best. 


MICHAEL   WIGGLESWORTH  9 

BAY   PSALM   BOOK 
23  A  Psalme  of  David 

The  Lord  to  mee  a  shepheard  is, 
want  therefore  shall  not  I. 

2  Hee  in  the  folds  of  tender-grasse, 

doth  cause  mee  downe  to  lie : 
To  waters  calme  me  gently  leads  5 

3  Restore  my  soule  doth  hee  : 
he  doth  in  paths  of  righteousnes 

for  his  names  sake  leade  mee. 

4  Yea  though  in  valley  of  deaths  shade 

I  walk,  none  ill  I'le  feare  :  10 

because  thou  art  with  mee,  thy  rod, 
and  staff e  my  comfort  are. 

5  For  mee  a  table  thou  hast  spread, 

in  presence  of  my  foes : 

thou  dost  annoynt  my  head  with  oyle,  15 

my  cup  it  over-flowes. 

6  Goodnes  &  mercy  surely  shall 

all  my  dayes  follow  mee  : 
and  in  the  Lords  house  I  shall  dwell 

so  long  as  dayes  shall  bee.  20 

MICHAEL   WIGGLESWORTH 

The  Judgment  of  Infants 

(From  The  Day  of  Doom) 

CLXVI 

Then  to  the  Bar  all  they  drew  near 

Who  died  in  infancy, 
And  never  had  or  good  or  bad 

effected  pers'nally; 
But  from  the  womb  unto  the  tomb  6 

were  straightway  carried, 
(Or  at  the  least  ere  they  transgress'd) 

Who  thus  began  to  plead : 


10  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


CLXVII 

"  If  for  our  own  transgressi-on, 
10  or  disobedience, 

We  here  did  stand  at  thy  left  hand, 

just  were  the  Recompense ; 
But  Adam's  guilt  our  souls  hath  spilt, 

his  fault  is  charg'd  upon  us ; 

15  And  that  alone  hath  overthrown 

and  utterly  undone  us. 

CLXVIII 

"Not  we,  but  he  ate  of  the  Tree, 

Whose  fruit  was  interdicted; 
Yet  on  us  all  of  his  sad  Fall 
20  the  punishment's  inflicted. 

How  could  we  sin  that  had  not  been, 

or  how  is  his  sin  our, 
Without  consent,  which  to  prevent 
we  never  had  the  pow'r? 


CLXIX 


25  "  O  great  Creator  why  was  our  Nature 

depraved  and  forlorn  ? 
Why  so  defil'd,  and  made  so  vil'd, 

whilst  we  were  yet  unborn? 
If  it  be  just,  and  needs  we  must 
30  transgressors  reckon'd  be, 

Thy  Mercy,  Lord,  to  us  afford, 
which  sinners  hath  set  free. 


CLXX 


"  Behold  we  see  Adam  set  free, 

and  sav'd  from  his  trespass, 

35  Whose  sinful  Fall  hath  split  us  all, 

and  brought  us  to  this  pass. 


MICHAEL    WIGGLESWORTH  11 

Canst  thou  deny  us  once  to  try, 

or  Grace  to  us  to  tender, 
When  he  finds  grace  before  thy  face, 

who  was  the  chief  offender?"  40 

CLXXI 

Then  answered  the  Judge  most  dread  : 

"  God  doth  such  doom  forbid, 
That  men  should  die  eternally 

for  what  they  never  did. 
But  what  you  call  old  Adam's  Fall,  45 

and  only  his  Trespass, 
You  call  arniss  to  call  it  his, 

both  his  and  yours  it  was. 

CLXXII 

"  He  was  design'd  of  all  Mankind 

to  be  a  public  Head ;  50 

A  common  Root,  whence  all  should  shoot, 

and  stood  in  all  their  stead. 
He  stood  and  fell,  did  ill  or  well, 

not  for  himself  alone, 
But  for  you  all,  who  now  his  Fall  55 

and  trespass  would  disown. 


CLXXX 

"  You  sinners  are,  and  such  a  share 

as  sinners,  may  expect ; 
Such  you  shall  have,  for  I  do  save 

none  but  mine  own  Elect. 
Yet  to  compare  your  sin  with  their 

who  liv'd  a  longer  time, 
I  do  confess  yours  is  much  less, 

though  every  sin's  a  crime. 


12  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

CLXXXI 

65  "  A  crime  it  is,  therefore  in  bliss 

you  may  not  hope  to  dwell; 
But  unto  you  I  shall  allow 

the  easiest  room  in  Hell." 
The  glorious  King  thus  answering, 

they  cease,  and  plead  no  longer; 
Their  Consciences  must  needs  confess 

his  Reasons  are  the  stronger. 

ANNE   BRADSTREET 

The  Glories  of  Nature 

(From   Contemplations) 

Some  time  now  past  in  the  Autumnal  Tide, 
When  Phoebus  wanted  but  one  hour  to  bed, 
The  trees  all  richly  clad,  yet  void  of  pride, 
Where  gilded  o're  by  his  rich  golden  head. 
5         Their  leaves  &  fruits  seem'd  painted,  but  was  true 
Of  green,  of  red,  of  yellow,  mixed  hew, 
Rapt  were  my  sences  at  this  delectable  view. 


I  wist  not  what  to  wish,  yet  sure  thought  I, 
If  so  much  excellence  abide  below ; 
10          How  excellent  is  he  that  dwells  on  high  ? 

Whose  power  arid  beauty  by  his  works  we  know. 

Sure  he  is  goodness,  wisdome,  glory,  light, 

That  hath  this  under  world  so  richly  dight: 

More  Heaven  then  Earth  was  here  no  winter  &  no  night. 


15         Then  on  a  stately  Oak  I  cast  mine  Eye, 

Whose  ruffling  top  the  Clouds  seem'd  to  aspire; 
How  long  since  thou  wast  in  thine  Infancy? 
Thy  strength,  and  stature,  more  thy  years  admire, 


ANNE    BRADSTREET  13 

Hath  hundred  winters  past  since  thou  wast  born  ? 

Or  thousand  since  thou  brakest  thy  shell  of  horn,  20 

If  so,  all  these  as  nought,  Eternity  doth  scorn. 


Then  higher  on  the  glistering  Sun  I  gaz'd, 

Whose  beams  was  shaded  by  the  leavie  Tree, 

The  more  I  look'd,  the  more  I  grew  amaz'd, 

And  softly  said,  what  glory's  like  to  thee  ?  25 

Soul  of  this  world,  this  Universes  Eye, 

No  wonder,  some  made  thee  a  Deity  : 

Had  I  not  better  known,  (alas)  the  same  had  I. 


Thou  as  a  Bridegroom  from  thy  Chamber  rushes, 

And  as  a  strong  man,  joyes  to  run  a  race,  30 

The  morn  doth  usher  thee,  with  smiles  &  blushes, 

The  Earth  reflects  her  glances  in  thy  face. 

Birds,  insects,  Animals  with  Vegative, 

Thy  heart  from  death  and  dulness  doth  revive  : 

And  in  the  darksome  womb  of  fruitful  nature  dive.  35 


Thy  swift  Annual,  and  diurnal  Course, 

Thy  daily  streight,  and  yearly  oblique  path, 

Thy  pleasing  fervor,  and  thy  scorching  force, 

All  mortals  here  the  feeling  knowledg  hath. 

Thy  presence  makes  it  day,  thy  absence  night,  40 

Quaternal  Season  caused  by  thy  might : 

Hail  Creature,  full  of  sweetness,  beauty  &  delight. 


Art  thou  so  full  of  glory,  that  no  Eye 

Hath  strength,  thy  shining  Rayes  once  to  behold  r 

And  is  thy  splendid  Throne  erect  so  high  ?  45 

As  to  approach  it,  can  no  earthly  mould. 


14  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

How  full  of  glory  then  must  thy  Creator  be  ? 
Who  gave  this  bright  light  luster  unto  thee : 
Admir'd,  ador'd  for  ever,  be  that  Majesty. 

8 

50          Silent  alone,  where  none  or  saw,  or  heard, 
In  pathless  paths  I  lead  my  wandring  feet, 
My  humble  Eyes  to  lofty  Skyes  I  rear'd 
To  sing  some  Song,  my  mazed  Muse  thought  meet 
My  great  Creator  I  would  magnifie, 

55          That  nature  had,  thus  decked  liberally : 
But  Ah,  and  Ah,  again,  my  imbecility! 

9 

I  heard  the  merry  grashopper  then  sing, 
The  black  clad  Cricket,  bear  a  second  part, 
They  kept  one  tune,  and  plaid  on  the  same  string, 
60          Seeming  to  glory  in  their  little  Art. 

Shall  Creatures  abject,  thus  their  voices  raise  ? 
And  in  their  kind  resound  their  makers  praise  : 
Whilst  I  as  mute,  can  warble  forth  no  higher  layes. 


26 

While  musing  thus  with  contemplation  fed, 
G5          And  thousand  fancies  buzzing  in  my  brain, 

The  sweet-tongu'd  Philomel  percht  ore  my  head, 
And  chanted  forth  a  most  melodious  strain 
Which  rapt  me  so  with  wonder  and  delight, 
I  judg'd  my  hearing  better  then  my  sight, 
70          And  wisht  me  wings  with  her  a  while  to  take  my  flight. 

27 

O  merry  Bird  (said  I)  that  fears  no  snares, 
That  neither  toyles  nor  hoards  up  in  thy  barn, 
Feels  no  sad  thoughts,  nor  cruciating  cares 
To  gain  more  good,  or  shun  what  might  thee  harm 


WILLIAM    BRADFORD  15 

Thy  cloaths  ne're  wear,  thy  meat  is  every  where,  75 

Thy  bed  a  bough,  thy  drink  the  water  cleer, 

Reminds  not  what  is  past,  nor  whats  to  come  dost  fear. 

28 

The  dawning  morn  with  songs  thou  dost  prevent, 

Sets  hundred  notes  unto  thy  feathered  crew, 

So  each  one  tunes  his  pretty  instrument,  80 

And  warbling  out  the  old,  begin  anew, 

And  thus  they  pass  their  youth  in  summer  season, 

Then  follow  thee  into  a  better  Region, 

Where  winter's  never  felt  by  that  sweet  airy  legion. 


WILLIAM   BRADFORD 

Life  at  Merry  Mount 

(From  History  of  Plymouth  Plantation) 

Aboute  some  3.  or  4.  years  before  this  time,  ther  came 
over  one  Captaine  Wolastone,  (a  man  of  pretie  parts,)  and 
with  him  3.  or  4.  more  of  some  eminencie,  who  brought 
with  them  a  great  many  servants,  with  provissions  &  other 
irnplments  for  to  begine  a  plantation  ;  and  pitched  them  5 
selves  in  a  place  within  the  Massachusets,  which  they  called, 
after  their  Captains  name,  Mount-Wollaston.  Amongst 
whom  was  one  Mr.  Morton,  who,  it  should  seeme,  had  some 
small  adventure  (of  his  owne  or  other  mens)  amongst  them  ; 
but  had  litle  respecte  amongst  them  and  was  sleghted  by  10 
the  meanest  servants.  Haveing  continued  ther  some  time, 
and  not  finding  things  to  answer  their  expectations,  nor 
profite  to  arise  as  they  looked  for,  Captaine  Wollaston 
takes  a  great  part  of  the  sarvents,  and  transports  them 
to  Virginia,  wher  he  puts  them  of  at  good  rates,  selling  15 
their  time  to  other  men ;  and  writs  back  to  one  Mr.  Rass- 
dall,  one  of  his  cheefe  partners,  and  accounted  their  mar- 


16  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

chant,  to  bring  another  parte  of  them  to  Verginia  likewise, 
intending  to  put  them  of  there  as  he  had  done  the  rest. 

20  And  he,  with  the  consente  of  the  said  Rasdall,  ap- 
poynted  one  Fitcher  to  be  his  Livetenante,  and  governe  the 
remaines  of  the  plantation,  till  he  or  Rasdall  returned  to 
take  further  order  theraboute.  But  this  Morton  abovesaid, 
haveing  more  craft  than  honestie,  (who  had  been  a  kind  of 

25  petiefogger,  of  Furnefells  Inne,)  in  the  others  absence, 
watches  an  oppertunitie,  (commons  being  but  hard  amongst 
them,)  and  gott  some  strong  drinck  and  other  junkats,  & 
made  them  a  feast ;  and  after  they  were  merie,  he  begane  to 
tell  them,  he  would  give  them  good  coimsell.  You  see 

30  (saith  he)  that  many  of  your  fellows  are  carried  to  Virginia; 
and  if  you  stay  till  this  Rasdall  returne,  you  will  also  be 
carried  away  and  sould  for  slaves  with  the  rest.  Therfore 
I  would  advise  you  to  thrust  out  this  Levetenant  Fitcher ; 
and  I,  having  a  parte  in  the  plantation,  will  receive  you  as 

35  my  partners  and  consociats ;  so  may  you  be  free  from  ser 
vice,  and  we  will  converse,  trad,  plante,  &  live  togeather  as 
equalls,  &  supporte  &  protecte  one  another,  or  to  like  effecte. 
This  counsell  was  easily  received;  so  they  tooke  opper 
tunitie,  and  thrust  Levetenante  Fitcher  out  a  dores,  and 

40  would  suffer  him  to  come  no  more  amongst  them,  but  forct 
him  to  seeke  bread  to  eate,  and  other  releefe  from  his 
neigbours,  till  he  could  gett  passages  for  England.  After 
this  they  fell  to  great  licenciousness,  and  led  a  dissolute 
life,  powering  out  them  selves  into  all  profanenes.  And 

45  Morton  became  lord  of  misrule,  and  maintained  (as  it  were) 
a  schoole  of  Athisme.  And  after  they  had  gott  some  good 
into  their  hands,  and  gott  much  by  trading  with  the  Indeans, 
they  spent  it  as  vainly,  in  quaffing  &  and  drinking  both 
wine  &  strong  waters  in  great  exsess,  and,  as  some  reported 

60lO£.  worth  in  a  morning.  They  allso  set  up  a  May-pole, 
drinking  and  dancing  aboute  it  many  days  togeather,  invit- 


JOHN    WINTHROP  17 

ing  the   Indean  women,  for  their  consorts,  dancing   and 
frisking  togither,  (like  so  many  fairies,  or  furies  rather,) 
and  worse  practises.     As  if  they  had  anew  revived  &  cele 
brated  the  feasts  of  the  Roman  Goddes  Flora,  or  the  beasly  55 
practieses  of  the  madd  Bacchinalians.     Morton  likwise  (to 
shew  his  poetrie)  composed  sundry  rimes  &  verses,  some 
tending  to  lasciviousries,  and  others  to  the  detraction  & 
scandall  of  some  persons,  which  he  affixed  to  this  idle  or 
idoll  May-polle.     They  chainged  allso  the  name  of  their  60 
place,  and  in  stead  of  calling  it  Mounte  Wollaston,  they  call 
it  Merie-mounte,  as  if  this  joylity  would  have  lasted  ever. 
But  this  continued  not  long,  for  after  Morton  was  sent  for 
England,  (as  follows  to  be  declared,)  shortly  after  came  over 
that  worthy   gentlman,   Mr.   John   Indecott,   who   brought  65 
over  a  patent  under  the  broad  seall,  for  the  governmente  of 
the   Massachusets,    who   visiting   those  parts  caused   that 
May-polle  to  be  cutt  downe,  and  rebuked  them  for  their 
profannes,  and  admonished  them  to  looke  ther  should  be 
better  walking ;  so  they  now,  or  others,  changed  the  name  70 
of  their  place  againe,  and  called  it  Mounte-Dagon. 

JOHN   WINTHROP 
The  "Little  Speech"  on  Liberty 
(From  The  History  of  New  England) 

There  is  a  twofold  liberty,  natural  (I  mean  as  our  nature 
is  now  corrupt)  and  civil  or  federal.  The  first  is  common 
to  man  with  beasts  and  other  creatures.  By  this,  man,  as 
he  stands  in  relation  to  man  simply,  hath  liberty  to  do 
what  he  lists ;  it  is  a  liberty  to  evil  as  well  as  to  good.  5 
This  liberty  is  incompatible  and  inconsistent  with  authority, 
and  cannot  endure  the  least  restraint  of  the  most  just 
authority.  The  exercise  and  maintaining  of  this  liberty 


18  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

makes  men  grow  more  evil,  and  in  time  to  be  worse  than 

10 brute  beasts:  omnes  sumus  licentia  deteriores.  This  is 
that  great  enemy  of  truth  and  peace,  that  wild  beast,  which 
all  the  ordinances  of  God  are  bent  against,  to  restrain  and 
subdue  it.  The  other  kind  of  liberty  I  call  civil  or  federal, 
it  may  also  be  termed  moral,  in  reference  to  the  covenant 

15  between  God  and  man,  in  the  moral  law,  and  the  politic 
covenants  and  constitutions,  amongst  men  themselves.  This 
liberty  is  the  proper  end  and  object  of  authority,  and  can 
not  subsist  without  it;  and  it  is  a  liberty  to  that  only 
which  is  good,  just,  and  honest.  This  liberty  you  are  to 

20  stand  for,  with  the  hazard  (not  only  of  your  goods,  but)  of 
your  lives,  if  need  be.  Whatsoever  crosseth  this,  is  not 
authority,  but  a  distemper  thereof.  This  liberty  is  main 
tained  and  exercised  in  a  way  of  subjection  to  authority  ; 
it  is  of  the  same  kind  of  liberty  wherewith  Christ  hath 

25  made  us  free.  The  woman's  own  choice  makes  such  a  man 
her  husband ;  yet  being  so  chosen,  he  is  her  lord,  and  she  is 
to  be  subject  to  him,  yet  in  a  way  of  liberty,  not  of  bondage; 
and  a  true  wife  accounts  her  subjection  her  honor  and  free 
dom,  and  would  not  think  her  condition  safe  and  free,  but 

30  in  her  subjection  to  her  husband's  authority.  Such  is  the 
liberty  of  the  church  under  the  authority  of  Christ,  her 
king  and  husband ;  his  yoke  is  so  easy  and  sweet  to  her  as 
a  bride's  ornaments ;  and  if  through  frowardness  or  wanton 
ness,  etc.,  she  shake  it  off,  at  any  time,  she  is  at  no  rest  in 

35  her  spirit,  until  she  take  it  up  again ;  and  whether  her  lord 
smiles  upon  her,  and  embraceth  her  in  his  arms,  or  whether 
he  frowns,  or  rebukes,  or  smites  her,  she  apprehends  the 
sweetness  of  his  love  in  all,  and  is  refreshed,  supported, 
and  instructed  by  every  such  dispensation  of  his  authority 

40  over  her.  On  the  other  side,  ye  know  who  they  are  that 
complain  of  this  yoke  and  say,  let  us  break  their  bands,  etc., 
we  will  not  have  this  man  to  rule  over  us.  Even  so,  breth- 


COTTON    MATHER  19 

ren,  it  will  be  between  you  and  your  magistrates.  If  you 
stand  for  your  natural  corrupt  liberties,  and  will  do  what  is 
good  in  your  own  eyes,  you  will  not  endure  the  least  weight  45 
of  authority,  but  will  murmur,  and  oppose,  and  be  always 
striving  to  shake  off  that  yoke ;  but  if  you  will  be  satisfied 
to  enjoy  such  civil  and  lawful  liberties,  such  as  Christ 
allows  you,  then  will  you  quietly  and  cheerfully  submit 
unto  that  authority  which  is  set  over  you,  in  all  the  admin-  50 
istrations  of  it,  for  your  good.  Wherein,  if  we  fail  at  any 
time,  we  hope  we  shall  be  willing  (by  God's  assistance)  to 
hearken  to  good  advice  from  any  of  yon,  or  in  any  other 
way  of  God;  so  shall  your  liberties  be  preserved,  in  up 
holding  the  honor  and  power  of  authority  amongst  you.  55 

COTTON  MATHER 

Character  of  Governor  Bradford 

{From  Magnalia) 

The  leader  of  a  people  in  a  wilderness  had  need  to  be  a 
Moses ;  and  if  a  Moses  had  not  led  the  people  of  Plymouth 
Colony,  when  this  worthy  person  was  their  governour,  the 
people  had  never  with  so  much  unanimity  and  importunity 
still  called  him  to  lead  them.  Among  many  instances  5 
thereof,  let  this  one  piece  of  self-denial  be  told  for  a  memo 
rial  of  him,  wheresoever  this  History  shall  be  considered : 
The  Patent  of  the  Colony  was  taken  in  his  name,  running 
in  these  terms ;  "To  William  Bradford,  his  heirs,  associates, 
and  assigns."  But  when  the  number  of  the  freemen  was  10 
much  increased,  and  many  new  townships  erected,  the  Gen 
eral  Court  there  desired  of  Mr.  Bradford,  that  he  would 
make  a  surrender  of  the  same  into  their  hands,  which  he 
willingly  and  presently  assented  unto,  and  confirmed  it 
according  to  their  desire  by  his  hand  and  seal,  reserving  no  15 


20  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

more  for  himself  than  was  his  proportion  with  others,  by 
agreement.  But  as  he  found  the  providence  of  Heaven 
many  ways  recompensing  his  many  acts  of  self-denial,  so 
he  gave  this  testimony  to  the  faithfulness  of  the  divine 

20  promises :  "  That  he  had  forsaken  friends,  houses  and  lands 
for  the  sake  of  the  gospel,  and  the  Lord  gave  them  him 
again."  Here  he  prospered  in  his  estate;  and  besides  a 
worthy  son  w.hich  he  had  by  a  former  wife,  he  had  also  two 
sons  and  a  daughter  by  another,  whom  he  married  in  this 

25  land. 

He  was  a  person  for  study  as  well  as  action ;  and  hence, 
notwithstanding  the  difficulties  through  which  he  passed  in 
his  youth,  he  attained  unto  a  notable  skill  in  languages  :  the 
Dutch  tongue  was  become  almost  as  vernacular  to  him  as 

30  the  English ;  the  French  tongue  he  could  also  manage  ;  the 
Latin  and  the  Greek  he  had  mastered ;  but  the  Hebrew  he 
most  of  all  studied,  "  Because,"  he  said,  "  he  would  see  with 
his  own  eyes  the  ancient  oracles  of  God  in  their  native 
beauty."  He  was  also  well  skilled  in  History,  and 

35  Antiquity,  and  in  Philosophy  ;  and  for  Theology  he  became 
so  versed  in  it,  that  he  was  an  irrefragable  disputant  against 
the  errors,  especially  those  of  Anabaptism,  which  with 
trouble  he  saw  rising  in  his  colony;  wherefore  he  wrote 
some  significant  things  for  the  confutation  of  those  errors. 

40  But  the  crown  of  all  was  his  holy,  prayerful,  watchful,  and 
fruitful  walk  with  God,  wherein  he  was  very  exemplary. 

At  length  he  fell  into  an  indisposition  of  body,  which 
rendered  him  unhealthy  for  a  whole  winter;  and  as  the 
spring  advanced,  his  health  yet  more  declined ;  yet  he  felt 

45 himself  not  what  he  counted  sick,  till  one  day;  in  the 
night  after  which,  the  God  of  heaven  so  filled  his  mind  with 
ineffable  consolations,  that  he  seemed  little  short  of  Paul, 
rapt  up  into  the  unutterable  entertainments  of  Paradise. 
The  next  morning  he  told  his  friends,  "That  the  good 


JONATHAN   EDWARDS  21 

Spirit  of    God   had   given  him  a  pledge  of  his  happiness  50 
in  another  world,  and  the  first  fruits  of  his  eternal  glory ;  " 
and  on  the  day  following  he  died,  May  9,  1657,  in  the  69th 
year  of  his   age  —  lamented   by  all   the   colonies   of  New 
England,  as  a  common  blessing  and  father  to  them  all. 

0  mihi  si  Similis  Contingat  Clausula  Vitce  !  55 

Plato's  brief  description  of  a  governour,  is  all  that  I  will 
now  leave  as  his  character,  in  an  EPITAPH. 

No/xevs  Tpoc^os  dyeArys  dv0p(07rii>i/s. 

MEN  are  but  FLOCKS  :  BRADFORD  beheld  their  need, 
And  long  did  them  at  once  both  rule  and  feed.  60 

JONATHAN   EDWARDS 

(From  Sinners  in  the  Hands  of  an  Angry  Go.d) 
Deuteronomy  xxxii.  35.  —  "Their  foot  shall  slide  in  due  time." 

###=*:*# 

The  observation  from  the  words  that  I  would  now  insist 
upon  is  this, 

There  is  nothing  that  keeps  wicked  men  at  any  one  moment 
out  of  hell,  but  the  mere  pleasure  of  God. 

By  the  mere  pleasure  of  God,  I  mean  his  sovereign  pleas- 5 
ure,  his  arbitrary  will,  restrained  by  no  obligation,  hindered 
by  no  manner  of  difficulty,  any  more  than  if  nothing  else 
but  God's  mere  will  had  in  the  least  degree  or  in  any  respect 
whatsoever  any  hand  in  the  preservation  of  wicked  men  one 
moment.  10 

The  truth  of  this  observation  may  appear  by  the  follow 
ing  considerations. 

1.  There   is  no    want  of  power  in  God  to  cast  wicked 
men  into  hell  at  any  moment.     *     *     * 

2.  They  deserve  to   be   cast   into    hell;    so  that  divine  15 


22  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

justice  never  stands  in  the  way,  it  makes  no  objection 
against  God's  using  his  power  at  any  moment  to  destroy 
them.  *  *  * 

3.  They  are  already  under  a  sentence  of  condemnation 
20  to  hell.     *     *     * 

4.  They  are  now  the  subjects  of  that  very  same  anger 
and  wrath  of  God,  that  is   expressed   in   the  torments  of 
hell.     *     *     * 

5.  The  devil  stands  ready  to  fall  upon  them,  and  seize 
25  them   as   his    own,   at   what    moment    God   shall    permit 

him.     *     *     * 

6.  There  are  in  the  souls  of  wicked  men  those  hellish 
principles  reigning,  that  would  presently  kindle  and  flame 
out  into  hell-fire,  if  it  were  not  for  God's  restraints.    *    *    * 

30  7.  It  is  no  security  to  wicked  men  for  one  moment,  that 
there  are  no  visible  means  of  death  at  hand.  *  *  * 

8.  Natural  men's  prudence  and  care  to  preserve  their 
own  lives,  or  the  care  of  others  to  preserve  them,  don't 
secure  'em  a  moment.  *  *  * 

35  9.  All  wicked  men's  pains  and  contrivance  they  use  to 
escape  hell,  while  they  continue  to  reject  Christ,  and  so  re 
main  wicked  men,  don't  secure  'em  from  hell  one  moment. 

#  #     =* 

10.    God   has   laid   himself   under  no  obligation,  by  any 
promise,  to  keep  any  natural  man  out  of  hell  one  moment. 

*  *     * 

40  So  that  thus  it  is,  that  natural  men  are  held  in  the  hand 
of  God  over  the  pit  of  hell ;  they  have  deserved  the  fiery 
pit,  and  are  already  sentenced  to  it ;  and  God  is  dreadfully 
provoked,  his  anger  is  as  great  towards  them  as  to  those 
that  are  actually  suffering  the  executions  of  the  fierceness 

45  of  his  wrath  in  hell,  and  they  have  done  nothing  in  the  least 
to  appease  or  abate  that  anger,  neither  is  God  in  the  least 
bound  by  any  promise  to  hold  'em  up  one  moment ;  the  devil 


JONATHAN    EDWARDS  23 

is  waiting  for  them,  the  flames  gather  and  flash 'about  them, 
and  would  fain  lay  hold  on  them  and  swallow  them  up  ;  the 
fire  pent  up  in  their  own  hearts  is  struggling  to  break  out ;  50 
and   they  have  no  interest  in  any  Mediator,  there  are  no 
means  within  reach  that  can  be  any  security  to  them.     In 
short  they  have  no  refuge,  nothing  to  take  hold  of ;  all  that 
preserves  them  every  moment  is  the  mere  arbitrary  will, 
and   uncovenanted,  unobliged   forbearance  of   an  incensed  55 
God.     *     *     * 

And  let  every  one  that  is  yet  out  of  Christ  and  hanging 
over  the  pit  of  hell,  whether  they  be  old  men  and  women 
or  middle-aged  or  young  people  or  little  children,  now 
hearken  to  the  loud  calls  of  God's  word  and  providence.  60 
This  acceptable  year  of  the  Lord  that  is  a  day  of  such  great 
favor  to  some  will  doubtless  be  a  day  of  as  remarkable  ven 
geance  to  others.  Men's  hearts  harden  and  their  guilt  in 
creases  apace  at  such  a  day  as  this,  if  they  neglect  their 
souls.  And  never  was  there  so  great  danger  of  such  persons  65 
being  given  up  to  hardness  of  heart  and  blindness  of  mind. 
God  seems  now  to  be  hastily  gathering  his  elect  in  all  parts 
of  the  land ;  and  probably  the  bigger  part  of  adult  persons 
that  ever  shall  be  saved  will  be  brought  in  now  in  a  little 
time,  and  that  it  will  be  as  it  was  on  that  great  outpouring  70 
of  the  Spirit  upon  the  Jews  in  the  Apostles'  days,  the  elec 
tion  will  obtain  and  the  rest  will  be  blinded.  If  this  should 
be  the  case  with  you,  you  will  eternally  curse  this  day,  and 
will  curse  the  day  that  ever  you  was  born  to  see  such  a  sea 
son  of  the  pouring  out  of  God's  Spirit,  and  will  wish  that  75 
you  had  died  and  gone  to  hell  before  you  had  seen  it.  Now 
undoubtedly  it  is  as  it  was  in  the  days  of  John  the  Baptist, 
the  axe  is  in  an  extraordinary  manner  laid  at  the  root  of  the 
trees,  that  every  tree  that  bringeth  not  forth  good  fruit  may 
be  hewn  down  and  cast  into  the  fire.  80 

Therefore  let  everyone  that  is  out  of  Christ  now  awake 


24  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

and  fly  from  the  wrath  to  come.  The  wrath  of  Almighty 
God  is  now  undoubtedly  hanging  over  a  great  part  of  this 
congregation.  Let  every  one  fly  out  of  Sodom.  "  Haste  and 
S5  escape  for  your  lives,  look  not  behind  you,  escape  to  the  moun 
tains,  lest  ye  be  consumed" 


BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN 

On  Drunkenness 
(Dogood  Papers,  No.  12) 
Quod  est  in  corde  sobrii,  est  in  ore  ebrii. 
To  THE  AUTHOR  OF  THE  NEW-ENGLAND  COURANT. 
SIR, 

IT  is  no  unprofitable  tho'  unpleasant  Pursuit,  diligently  to 

5  inspect  and  consider  the  Manners  &  Conversation  of  Men, 
who  insensible  of  the  greatest  Enjoyments  of  humane  Life, 
abandon  themselves  to  Vice  from  a  false  Notion  of  Pleasure 
and  good  Fellowship.  A  true  and  natural  Representation  of 
any  Enormity,  is  often  the  best  Argument  against  it  and 

10  Means  of  removing  it,  when  the  most  severe  Reprehensions 
alone,  are  found  ineffectual. 

I  WOULD  in  this  Letter  improve  the  little  Observation  I 
have  made  on  the  Vice  of  Drunkenness,  the  better  to  reclaim 
the  good  Fellows  who  usually  pay  the  Devotions  of  the 

15  Evening  to  Bacchus. 

I  DOUBT  not  but  moderate  Drinking  has  been  improv'd 
for  the  Diffusion  of  Knowledge  among  the  ingenious  Part  of 
Mankind,  who  want  the  Talent  of  a  ready  Utterance,  in 
order  to  discover  the  Conceptions  of  their  Minds  in  an  enter- 

20taining  and  intelligible  Manner.  'Tis  true,  drinking  does 
not  improve  our  Faculties,  but  it  enables  us  to  use  them ; 
and  therefore  I  conclude,  that  much  Study  and  experience, 


BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN  25 

and  a  little  Liquor,  are  of  absolute  Necessity  for  some  Tem 
pers,  in  order  to  make  them  accomplished  orators.  Die.  Ponder 
discovers  an  excellent  Judgment  when  he  is  inspir'd  with  a  25 
glass  or  two  of  Claret,  but  he  passes  for  a  Fool  among  those 
of  small  Observation,  who  never  saw  him  the  better  for 
Drink.     And  here  it  will  not  be  improper  to  observe,  That 
the  moderate  Use  of  Liquor,  and  a  well  placed  and  well  reg 
ulated  Anger,  often  produce  this  same  Effect ;  and  some  who  30 
cannot  ordinarily  talk  but  in  broken  Sentences  and  false 
Grammar,  do  in  the  Heat  of  Passion  express  themselves 
with  as  much  Eloquence  as  Warmth.     Hence  it  is  that  my 
own  Sex  are  generally  the  most  eloquent,  because  the  most 
passionate.     "  It  has  been  said  in  the  Praise  of  some  Men,"  35 
(says  an  ingenious  Author,)  "  that  they  could  talk  whole 
Hours  together  upon  any  thing;  but  it  must  be  owned  to 
the  Honour  of  the  other  Sex,  that  there  are  many  among 
them  who  can  talk  whole  Hours  together  upon  Nothing.     I 
have  known  a  Woman  branch  out  into  a  long  extempore  Dis-  40 
sertation  on  the  Edging  of  a  Petticoat,  and  chide  her  Servant 
for  breaking  a  China  Cup,  in  all  the  Figures  of  Rhetorick." 

BUT  after  all  it  must  be  consider'd,  that  no  Pleasure  can 
give  Satisfaction  or  prove  advantageous  to  a  reasonable  Mind, 
which  is  not  attended  with  the  Restraints  of  Reason.  Enjoy- 45 
merit  is  not  to  be  found  by  Excess  in  any  sensual  Gratifica 
tion  ;  but  on  the  contrary,  the  immoderate  Cravings  of  the 
Voluptuary,  are  always  succeeded  with  Loathing  and  a 
palled  Appetite.  What  Pleasure  can  the  Drunkard  have 
in  the  Reflection,  that  while  in  his  Cups,  he  retain'd  only  50 
the  Shape  of  a  Man,  and  acted  the  Part  of  a  Beast ;  or  that 
from  reasonable  Discourse  a  few  Minutes  before,  he  descended 
to  Impertinence  and  Nonsense  ? 

I  CANNOT  pretend  to  account  for  the  different  Effects  of 
Liquor  on  Persons  of  different  Dispositions,  who  are  guilty  55 
of  Excess  in  the  Use  of  it.      'Tis  strange  to  see  Men  of  a 


26  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

regular  Conversation  become  rakish  and  profane  when  intoxi 
cated  with  Drink,  and  yet  more  surprizing  to  observe,  that 
some  who  appear  to  be  the  most  profligate  Wretches  when 

60  sober,  become  mighty  religious  in  their  Cups,  and  will  then, 
and  at  no  other  Time  address  their  Maker,  but  when  they 
are  destitute  of  Reason,  and  actually  affronting  him.  Some 
shrink  in  the  Wetting,  and  others  swell  to  such  an  unusual 
Bulk  in  their  Imaginations,  that  they  can  in  an  Instant 

65  understand  all  Arts  and  Sciences,  by  the  liberal  Education 
of  a  little  vivyfying  Punch,  or  a  sufficient  Quantity  of  other 
exhilerating  Liquor. 

AND  as  the  Effects  of  Liquor  are  various,  so  are  the  Char 
acters  given  to  its  Devourers.      It  argues  some  Shame  in  the 

70  Drunkards  themselves,  in  that  they  have  invented  numberless 
Words  and  Phrases  to  cover  their  Folly,  whose  proper  Signi 
fications  are  harmless,  or  have  no  Signification  at  all.  They 
are  seldom  known  to  be  drunk,  tho  they  are  very  often  boozey, 
cogey,  tipsey,fox'd,  merry,  mellow,  fuddVd,  groatable,  Confound- 

75  edly  cut,  See  two  Moons,  are  Among  the  Philistines,  In  a  very 
good  Humour,  See  the  Sun,  or,  The  Sun  has  shone  upon  them  ; 
they  Clip  the  King's  English,  are  Almost  froze,  Feavourish,  In 
their  Altitudes,  Pretty  well  enter'd,  &c.  In  short,  every  Day 
produces  some  new  Word  or  Phrase  which  might  be  added 

80  to  the  Vocabulary  of  the  Tiplers:  But  I  have  chose  to 
mention  these  few,  because  if  at  any  Time  a  Man  of  Sobriety 
and  Temperance  happens  to  cut  himself  confoundedly,  or  is 
almost  froze,  or  feavourish,  or  accidently  sees  the  Sun,  &c.  he 
may  escape  the  Imputation  of  being  drunk,  when  his  Mis- 

85  fortune  comes  to  be  related. 

I  am  SIR, 

Your  Humble  Servant, 

SILENCE  DOGOOD. 


BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN  27 

Growth  of  Ill-Humor  in  America 
(From  Causes  of  the  American  Discontents) 

The  Waves  never  rise  but  when  the  Winds  blow.  —  PROV. 
Sill, 

As  the  cause  of  the  present  ill-humour  in  America,  and 
of  the  resolutions  taken  there  to  purchase  less  of  our  manu 
factures,  does  not  seem  to  be  generally  understood,  it  may  5 
afford  some  satisfaction  to  your  Readers,  if  you  give  them 
the  following  short  historical  state  of  facts. 

From  the  time  that  the  Colonies  were  first  considered  as 
capable  of  granting  aids  to  the  Crown,  down  to  the  end  of 
the  last  war,  it  is  said,  that  the  constant  mode  of  obtaining  10 
those  aids  was  by  Requisition  made  from  the  Crown  through 
its  Governors  to  the  several  Assemblies,  in  circular  letters 
from  the  Secretary  of  State  in  his  Majesty's  name,  setting 
forth  the  occasion,  requiring  them  to  take  the  matter  into 
consideration ;  and  expressing  a  reliance  on  their  prudence,  15 
duty  and  affection  to  his  Majesty's  Government,  that  they 
would  grant  such  sums,  or  raise  such  numbers  of  men,  as 
wefe  suitable  to  their  respective  circumstances. 

The  Colonies,  being  accustomed  to  this  method,  have 
from  time  to  time  granted  money  to  the  Crown,  or  raised  20 
troops  for  its  service,  in  proportion  to  their  abilities ;  and 
during  the  last  war  beyond  their  abilities,  so  that  consider 
able  sums  were  returned  them  yearly  by  Parliament,  as 
they  had  exceeded  their  proportion. 

Had  this  happy  method  of  Requisition  been  continued;  25 
(a  method  that  left  the  King's  subjects  in  those  remote 
countries  the  pleasure  of  showing  their  zeal  and  loyalty, 
and  of   imagining  that  they  recommended  themselves  to 
their  Sovereign  by  the  liberality  of  their  voluntary  grants) 
there  is  no  doubt  but  all  the  money  that  could  reasonably  30 
be  expected  to  be  raised  from  them  in  any  manner,  might 


28  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

have  been  obtained,  without  the  least  heart-burning,  of 
fence,  or  breach  of  the  harmony,  of  affections  and  interests, 
that  so  long  subsisted  between  the  two  countries. 

35  It  has  been  thought  wisdom  in  a  Government  exercising 
sovereignty  over  different  kinds  of  people,  to  have  some  re 
gard  to  prevailing  and  established  opinions  among  the 
people  to  be  governed,  wherever  such  opinions  might,  in 
their  effects  obstruct  or  promote  public  measures.  If  they 

40  tend  to  obstruct  public  service,  they  are  to  be  changed,  if 
possible,  before  we  attempt  to  act  against  them ;  and  they 
can  only  be  changed  by  reason  and  persuasion.  But  if  pub 
lic  business  can  be  carried  on  without  thwarting  those 
opinions,  if  they  can  be,  on  the  contrary,  made  subservient 

45  to  it,  they  are  not  unnecessarily  to  be  thwarted,  how  absurd 
so  ever  such  popular  opinions  may  be  in  their  nature. 

This  had  been  the  wisdom  of  our  Government  with  re 
spect  to  raising  money  in  the  colonies.  It  was  well  known, 
that  the  Colonists  universally  were  of  opinion,  that  no 

50  money  could  be  levied  from  English  subjects,  but  by  their 
own  consent  given  by  themselves  or  their  chosen  Repre 
sentatives :  That  therefore,  whatever  money  was  to*  be 
raised  from  the  people  in  the  Colonies,  must  first  be  granted 
by  their  Assemblies,  as  the  money  raised  in  Britain  is  first 

55  to  be  granted  by  the  House  of  Commons  :  That  this  right 
of  granting  their  own  money,  was  essential  to  English 
liberty :  And  that  if  any  man,  or  body  of  men,  in  which 
they  had  no  Representative  of  their  choosing,  could  tax 
them  at  pleasure,  they  could  not  be  said  to  have  any  prop- 

eoerty,  any  thing  they  could  call  their  own.  But  as  these 
opinions  did  not  hinder  their  granting  money  voluntarily 
and  amply  whenever  the  Crown  by  its  servants  came  into 
their  Assemblies  (as  it  does  into  its  Parliaments  of  Britain 
or  Ireland)  and  demanded  aids  ;  therefore  that  method  was 

65  chosen  rather  than  the  hateful  one  of  arbitrary  taxes. 


BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN  29 

I  do  not  undertake  here  to  support  those  opinions  of  the 
Americans;  they  have  been  .refuted  by  a  late  Act  of  Parlia 
ment,  declaring  its  own  power;  which  very  Parliament, 
,  however,  shewed  wisely  so  much  tender  regard  to  those  in 
veterate  prejudices,  as  to  repeal  a  tax  that  had  militated  70 
against  them.  And  those  prejudices  are  still  so  fixed  and 
rooted  in  the  Americans,  that,  it  has  been  supposed,  not  a 
single  man  among  them  has  been  convinced  of  his  error, 
even  by  that  Act  of  Parliament. 

They  reflected  how  lightly  the  interest  of  all  America  had  75 
been  estimated  here,  when  the  interests  of  a  few  of  the  in 
habitants  of  Great  Britain  happened  to  have  the  smallest 
competition  with  it.     That  thus  the  whole  American  people 
was  forbidden  the  advantage  of  a  direct  importation  of  wine, 
oil,  and  fruit,  from  Portugal,  but  must  take  them  loaded  80 
with  all  the  expences  of  a  voyage  1000  leagues  round  about, 
being  to  be  landed  first  in  England,  to  be  re-shipped  for 
America;  expences  amounting,  in  war  time,  at  least  to  30 
per  cent,  more  than  otherwise  they  would  have  been  charged 
with,  and  all  this  merely  that  a  few  Portugal  merchants  in  85 
London  may  gain  a  commission  on  those  goods   passing 
through  their  hands,  Portugal  merchants,  by  the  by,  that 
can  complain  loudly  of  the  smallest  hardships  laid  on  their 
trade  by  foreignersj  and  yet  even  in  the  last  year  could 
oppose  with  all  their  influence  the  giving  ease  to  their  fel-  90 
low  subjects  labouring  under  so  heavy  an  oppression  !     That 
on  a  slight  complaint  of  a  few  Virginia  merchants,  nine 
colonies   had  been  restrained  from   making  paper   money, 
become  absolutely  necessary  to   their   internal    commerce 
from  the  constant  remittance  of  their  gold  and  silver  to  95 
Britain. 

But  not  only  the  interest  of  a  particular  body  of  mer 
chants,  the  interest  of  any  small  body  of  British  tradesmen 
or  artificers,  has  been  found,  they  say,  to  outweigh  that  of 


30  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

100  all  the  King's  subjects  in  the  colonies.  There  can  not  be  a 
stroDg<?r  natural  right  than  that  of  a  man's  making  the  best 
profit  he  can  of  the  natural  produce  of  his  lands,  provided 
he  does  not  thereby  hurt  the  state  in  general.  Iron  is  to  be 
found  everywhere  in  America,  and  beaver  furs  are  the 

105  natural  produce  of  that  country  :  hats,  and  nails,  and  steel 
are  wanted  there  as  well  as  here.  It  is  of  no  importance  to 
the  common  welfare  of  the  empire,  whether  a  subject  of 
the  King's  gets  his  living  by  making  hats  on  this  or  that  side 
of  the  water.  Yet  the  Hatters  of  England  have  prevailed 

110  to  obtain  an  Act  in  their  own  favour,  restraining  that  man 
ufacture  in  America,  in  order  to  oblige  the  Americans  to 
send  their  beaver  to  England  to  be  manufactured,  and 
purchase  back  the  hats,  loaded  with  the  charges  of  a  double 
transportation.  In  the  same  manner  have  a  few  Nail- 

115  makers,  and  a  still  smaller  body  of  Steel-makers  (perhaps 
there  are  not  half  a  dozen  of  these  in  England)  prevailed 
totally  to  forbid  by  an  Act  of  Parliament  the  erecting  of 
slitting-mills  or  steel-furnaces  in  America;  that  the  Ameri 
cans  may  be  obliged  to  take  all  the  nails  for  their  buildings, 

120  and  steel  for  their  tools,  from  these  artificers,  under  the 
same  disadvantages. 

Added  to  these,  the  Americans  remembered  the  Act  au 
thorizing  the  most  cruel  insult  that  perhaps  was  ever  offered 
by  one  people  to  another,  that  of  emptying  our  gaols  into 

125  their  settlements :  Scotland  too  having  within  these  two 
years  obtained  the  privelege  it  had  not  before,  of  sending 
its  rogues  and  villains  also  to  the  plantations.  I  say,  re 
flecting  on  these  things,  they  said  one  to  another  (their 
newspapers  are  full  of  such  discourses)  these  people  are  not 

130  content  with  making  a  monopoly  of  us,  forbidding  us  to 
trade  with  any  other  country  of  Europe,  and  compelling  us 
to  buy  everything  of  them,  though  in  many  articles  we 
could  furnish  ourselves  10,  20,  and  even  to  50  per  cent 


BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN  31 

cheaper  elsewhere ;  but  now  they  have  as  good  as  declared 
they  have  a  right  to  tax  us  ad  libitum  internally  and  ex- 135 
ternally,  and  that  our  constitutions  and  liberties  shall  all 
be  taken  away,  if  we  do  not  submit  to  that  claim. 

These  are  the  wild  ravings  of  the  at  present  half  dis 
tracted  Americans.     To  be  sure,  no  reasonable  man  in  Eng 
land  can  approve  of  such  sentiments,  and,  as  I  said  before,  I  do  140 
not  pretend  to  support  or  justify  them  :  But  I  sincerely  wish, 
for  the  sake  of  the  manufactures  and  commerce  of  Great 
Britain,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  strength  which  a  firm  union 
with  our  growing  colonies  would  give  us,  that  these  people 
had  never  been  thus  needlessly  driven  out  of  their  senses.    145 
I  am,  yours,  &c. 

F  +  S. 

Britain's  Dealings  With  Her  Colonies  Imitated 
(From  An  Edict  by  the  King  of  Prussia) 

We  have  long  wondered  here  at  the  supineness  of  the 
English  nation,  under  the  Prussian  impositions  upon  its 
trade  entering  our  port.  We  did  not,  till  lately,  know  the 
claims,  ancient  and  modern,  that  hang  over  that  nation ;  and 
therefore  could  not  suspect  that  it  might  submit  to  those 
impositions  from  a  sense  of  duty  or  from  principles  of  5 
equity.  The  following  Edict,  just  made  publick,  may,  if 
serious,  throw  some  light  upon  this  matter. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

"  Whereas  it  is  well  known  to  all  the  world,  that  the  first 
German  settlements  made  in  the  Island  of  Britain,  were  by  10 
colonies  of  people,  subject  to  our  renowned  ducal  ancestors, 
and  drawn  from  their  dominions,  under  the  conduct  of  Hen- 
gist,  Horsa,  Hella,  TJff,  Cerdicus,  Ida,  and  others ;  and  that 
the  said  colonies  have  flourished  under  the  protection  of  our 
august  house  for  ages  past ;  have  never  been  emancipated  15 


32  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

therefrom ;  and  yet  have  hitherto  yielded  little  profit  to  the 
same :  And  whereas  we  ourself  have  in  the  last  war  fought 
for  and  defended  the  said  colonies,  against  the  power  of 
France,  and  thereby  enabled  them  to  make  conquests  from 

20  the  said  power  in  America,  for  which  we  have  not  yet  re 
ceived  adequate  compensation :  And  whereas  it  is  just  and 
expedient  that  a  revenue  should  be  raised  from  the  said 
colonies  in  Britain,  towards  our  indemnification;  and  that 
those  who  are  descendants  of  our  ancient  subjects,  and 

25  thence  still  owe  us  due  obedience,  should  contribute  to  the 
replenishing  of  our  royal  coffers  as  they  must  have  done, 
had  their  ancestors  remained  in  the  territories  now  to  us 
appertaining :  We  do  therefore  hereby  ordain  and  command, 
that,  from  and  after  the  date  of  these  presents,  there  shall 

30  be  levied  and  paid  to  our  officers  of  the  customs,  on  all  goods, 
wares,  and  merchandizes,  and  on  all  grain  and  other  produce 
of  the  earth,  exported  from  the  said  Island  of  Britain,  and 
on  all  goods  of  whatever  kind  imported  into  the  same,  a 
duty  of  four  and  a  half  per  cent  ad  valorem,  for  the  use  of 

35  us  and  our  successors.  And  that  the  said  duty  may  more 
effectually  be  collected,  we  do  hereby  ordain,  that  all  ships 
or  vessels  bound  from  Great  Britain  to  any  other  part  of  the 
world,  or  from  any  other  part  of  the  world  to  Great  Britain, 
shall  in  their  respective  voyages  touch  at  our  port  of 

40  Koningsberg,  there  to  be  unladen,  searched,  and  charged 
with  the  said  duties. 

****** 
"And,   lastly,  being  willing  farther  to  favour  our  said 
colonies  in  Britain,  we  do  hereby  also  ordain  and  command, 
that   all   the  thieves,   highway   and   street   robbers,   house- 

45  breakers,  f orgerers,  murderers,  and  villains  of  every  denom 
ination,  who  have  forfeited  their  lives  to  the  law  in  Prussia; 
but  whom  we,  in  our  great  clemency,  do  not  think  fit  here 
to  hang,  shall  be  emptied  out  of  our  gaols  into  the  said 


BENJAMIN    FRANKLIN  33 

island  of   Great    Britain,  for   the   better  peopling  of  that 
country.  50 

"We  flatter  ourselves,  that  these  our  royal  regulations 
and  commands  will  be  thought  just  and  reasonable  by  our 
much- favoured  colonists  in  England;  the  said  regulations 
being  copied  from  their  statutes  of  10  and  11  William,  c.  10, 
5  Geo.  II.  c.  22,  23,  Geo.  II.  c.  29,  4  Geo.  I.  c.  11,  and  from  55 
other  equitable  laws  made  by  their  parliaments ;  or  from 
instructions  given  by  their  Princes ;  or  from  resolutions  of 
both  Houses,  entered  into  for  the  good  government  of  their 
own  colonies  in  Ireland  and  America. 

"  And  all  persons  in  the  said  island  are  hereby  cautioned  60 
not  to  oppose  in  any  wise  the  execution  of  this  our  Edict,  or 
any  part  thereof,  such  opposition  being  high  treason;  of 
which  all  who  are  suspected  shall  be  transported  in  fetters 
from  Britain  to  Prussia,  there  to  be  tried  and  executed 
according  to  the  Prussian  law.  65 

"  Such  is  our  pleasure. 

"  Given  at  Potsdam,  this  twenty-fifth  day  of  the  month 
of  August,  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  seventy-three, 
and  in  the  thirty-third  year  of  our  reign. 

"  By  the  King,  in  his  Council.  70 

" RECHTMAESSIG,  Sec" 

Some  take  this  Edict  to  be  merely  one  of  the  King's  Jeux 
d' Esprit:  others  suppose  it  serious,  and  that  he  means  a 
quarrel  with  England;  but  all  here  think  the  assertion  it 
concludes  with,  "  that  these  regulations  are  copied  from  acts  75 
of  the  English  parliament  respecting  their  colonies,"  a  very 
injurious  one ;  it  being  impossible  to  believe,  that  a  people 
distinguished  for  their  love  of  liberty,  a  nation  so  wise,  so 
liberal  in  its  sentiments,  so  just  and  equitable  towards  its 
neighbors,  should,  from  mean  and  injudicious  views  of  petty  80 


34  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

immediate  profit,  treat  its  own  children  in  a  manner  so  arbi 
trary  and  tyrannical ! 


The  Whistle 
(A  Letter  to  Madame  Brillon) 

I  received  my  dear  friend's  two  letters,  one  for  Wednes 
day  and  one  for  Saturday.  This  is  again  Wednesday.  1 
do  not  deserve  one  for  to-day,  because  I  have  not  answered 
the  former.  But,  indolent  as  I  am,  and  averse  to  writing, 
6  the  fear  of  having  no  more  of  your  pleasing  epistles,  if  I  do 
not  contribute  to  the  correspondence,  obliges  me  to  take  up 
my  pen ;  and  as  Mr.  B.  has  kindly  sent  me  word,  that  he 
sets  out  to-morrow  to  see  you,  instead  of  spending  this 
Wednesday  evening  as  I  have  done  its  namesakes,  in  your 

10  delightful  company,  I  sit  down  to  spend  it  in  thinking  of 
you,  in  writing  to  you,  and  in  reading  over  and  over  again 
your  letters. 

I  am  charmed  with   your  description   of   Paradise,  and 
with  your  plan  of   living  there;  and   I  approve  much  of 

15  your  conclusion,  that,  in  the  mean  time,  we  should  draw  all 
the  good  we  can  from  this  world.  In  my  opinion,  we  might 
all  draw  more  good  from  it  than  we  do,  and  suffer  less  evil, 
if  we  would  take  care  not  to  give  too  much  for  whistles. 
For  to  me  it  seems,  that  most  of  the  unhappy  people  we 

20  meet  with,  are  become  so  by  neglect  of  that  caution. 

You  ask  what  I  mean  ?     You  love  stories,  and  will  ex 
cuse  my  telling  one  of  myself. 

When  I  was  a  child  of  seven  years  old,  my  friends,  on  a 
holiday,  filled  my  pockets  with  coppers.     I  went  directly 

25 to  a  shop  where  they  sold  toys  for  children;  and  being 
charmed  with  the  sound  of  a  whistle,  that  I  met  by  the  way 
in  the  hands  of  another  boy,  I  voluntarily  offered  and  gave 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  35 

all  my  money  for  one.     I  then  came  home,  and  went  whist 
ling  all  over  the  house,  much  pleased  with  my  whistle,  but 
disturbing  all   the  family.     My  brothers,  and  sisters,  and  30 
cousins,  understanding  the  bargain  I  had  made,  told  me  I 
had  given  four  times  as  much  for  it  as  it  was  worth ;  put 
me  in  mind  what  good  things  I  might  have  bought  with  the 
rest  of   my  money;  and   laughed  at  me  so  much   for  my 
folly,  that  I  cried  with  vexation;  and  the  reflection  gave 35 
me  more  chagrin  than  the  whistle  gave  me  pleasure. 

This  however  was  afterwards  of  use  to  me,  the  impres 
sion  continuing  on  my  mind;  so  that  often,  when  I  was 
tempted  to  buy  some  unnecessary  thing,  I  said  to  myself, 
Don't  give  too  much  for  the  whistle;  and  I  saved  my  money.  40 

As  I  grew  up,  came  into  the  world,  and  observed  the 
actions  of  men,  I  thought  I  met  with  many,  very  many,  who 
gave  too  much  for  the  whistle. 

When  I  saw  one  too  ambitious  of  court  favour,  sacrificing 
his  time  in  attendance  on  levees,  his  repose,  his  liberty,  his  45 
virtue,  and  perhaps  his  friends  to  attain  it,  I  have  said  to 
myself,  This  man  gives  too  much  for  his  whistle. 

When  I  saw  another  fond  of  popularity,  constantly  em 
ploying  himself   in   political   bustles,  neglecting   his   own 
affairs,  and  ruining  them  by  that  neglect,  He  pays,  indeed,  50 
said  I,  too  much  for  his  whistle. 

If  I  knew  a  miser,  who  gave  up  every  kind  of  comfort 
able  living,  all  the  pleasure  of  doing  good  to  othe:;«.  all  thf 
esteem  of  his  fellow-citizens,  and  the  joys   of  bt.^evolent 
friendship,  for  the  sake  of  accumulating  wealth,  Poor  man,  55 
said  I,  you  pay  too  much  for  your  whistle. 

When  I  met  with  a  man  of   pleasure,  sacrificing  every 
laudable  improvement  of  the  mind,  or  of  his  fortune,  to  mere 
corporeal  sensations,  and  ruining  his  health  in  their  pursuit, 
Mistaken  man,  said  I,  you  are  providing  pain  for  yourself,  60 
instead  of  pleasure;  you  give  too  much  for  yow  ivhistle. 


36  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

If   I   see  one   fond  of   appearance,  or   fine  clothes,  fine 
houses,  fine  furniture,  fine  equipages,  all  above  his  fortune, 
for  which  he  contracts  debts,  and  ends  his  career  in  a  prison, 
65  Alas  !  say  I,  he  has  paid  dear,  very  dear,  for  his  whistle. 

When  I  see  a  beautiful,  sweet-tempered  girl  married  to 
an  ill-natured  brute  of  a  husband,  What  a  pity,  say  I,  that 
she  should  pay  so  much  for  a  whistle! 

In  short,  I  conceive  that  great  part  of  the  miseries  of 
70  mankind  are  brought  upon  them   by  the   false   estimates 
they  have  made  of  the  value  of  things,  and  by  their  giving 
too  much  for  their  whistles. 

Yet  I  ought  to  have  charity  for  these  unhappy  people, 

when  I  consider,  that,  with  all  this  wisdom  of  which  I  am 

75  boasting,  there  are  certain  things  in  the  world  so  tempting 

for  example,  the  apples  of  King  John,  which  happily  are 

not  to  be  bought ;  for  if  they  were  put  to  sale  by  auction 

I  might  very  easily  be  led  to  ruin  myself  in  the  purchase. 

and   find   that  I  had  once  more  given  too   much  for  the 

80  whistle. 

Adieu,  my  dear  friend,  and  believe  me  ever  yours  very 
sincerely  and  with  unalterable  affection, 

B.  FRANKLIN. 

PATRICK  HENRY 

(From  Liberty  or  Death) 

Let  us  not,  I  beseech  you,  sir,  deceive  ourselves  longer. 
Sir,  we  have  done  every  thing  that  could  be  done,  to  avert 
the  storm  which  is  now  coming  on.  We  have  petitioned  — 
we  have  remonstrated  —  we  have  supplicated  —  we  have 
5  prostrated  ourselves  before  the  throne,  and  have  implored 
its  interposition  to  arrest  the  tyrannical  hands  of  the  minis 
try  and  Parliament.  Our  petitions  have  been  slighted ;  our 
remonstrances  have  produced  additional  violence  and  insult ; 


PATRICK  HENRY  37 

our  supplications  have  been  disregarded ;  and  we  have  been 
spurned  with  contempt,  from  the  foot  of  the  throne.  In  10 
vain,  after  these  things,  may  we  indulge  the  fond  hope  of 
peace  and  reconciliation.  Tliere  is  no  longer  any  room  for 
hope.  If  we  wish  to  be  free  —  if  we  mean  to  preserve  in 
violate  those  inestimable  privileges  for  which  we  have  been 
so  long  contending  —  if  we  mean  not  basely  to  abandon  the  15 
noble  struggle  in  which  we  have  been  so  long  engaged,  and 
which  we  have  pledged  ourselves  never  to  abandon,  until 
the  glorious  object  of  our  contest  shall  be  obtained  —  we 
must  fight !  —  I  repeat  it,  sir,  we  must  fight !  An  appeal  to 
arms  and  to  the  God  of  Hosts,  is  all  that  is  left  us !  20 

They  tell  us,  sir,  that  we  are  weak  —  unable  to  cope  with 
so  formidable  an  adversary.  But  when  shall  we  be  stronger  ? 
Will  it  be  the  next  week  or  the  next  year?  Will  it  be 
when  we  are  totally  disarmed,  and  when  a  British  guard 
shall  be  stationed  in  every  house  ?  Shall  we  gather  25 
strength  by  irresolution  and  inaction  ?  Shall  we  acquire 
the  means  of  effectual  resistance  by  lying  supinely  on  our 
backs,  and  hugging  the  delusive  phantom  of  hope,  until  our 
enemies  shall  have  bound  us  hand  and  foot  ?  Sir,  we  are 
not  weak,  if  we  make  a  proper  use  of  those  means  which  the  30 
God  of  nature  hath  placed  in  our  power.  Three  millions  of 
people  armed  in  the  holy  cause  of  liberty,  and  in  such  a 
country  as  that  which  we  possess,  are  invincible  by  any 
force  which  our  enemy  can  send  against  us.  Besides,  sir, 
we  shall  not  fight  our  battles  alone.  There  is  a  just  God  35 
who  presides  over  the  destinies  of  nations,  and  who  will 
raise  up  friends  to  fight  our  battles  for  us.  The  battle,  sir, 
is  not  to  the  strong  alone  ;  it  is  to  the  vigilant,  the  active,  the 
brave.  Besides,  sir,  we  have  no  election.  If  we  were  base 
enough  to  desire  it,  it  is  now  too  late  to  retire  from  the  con-  40 
test.  There  is  no  retreat  but  in  submission  and  slavery ! 
Our  chains  are  forged.  Their  clanking  may  be  heard  on 


38  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

the  plains  of  Boston!  The  war  is  inevitable  —  and  let  it 
come ! !  I  repeat  it,  sir,  let  it  come ! ! ! 

45  It  is  vain,  sir,  to  extenuate  the  matter.  Gentlemen  may 
cry,  peace,  peace,  —  but  there  is  no  peace.  The  war  is 
actually  begun !  The  next  gale  that  sweeps  from  the  north 
will  bring  to  our  ears  the  clash  of  resounding  arms !  Our 
brethren  are  already  in  the  field  !  Why  stand  we  here  idle  ? 

50  What  is  it  that  gentlemen  wish  ?  What  would  they  have  ? 
Is  life  so  dear,  or  peace  so  sweet,  as  to  be  purchased  at  the 
price  of  chains  and  slavery  ?  Forbid  it,  Almighty  God  ! 
I  know  not  what  course  others  may  take;  but  as  for  me, 
give  me  liberty,  or  give  me  death ! 

JAMES   OTIS 

(From  On  the  Writs  of  Assistance) 

One  of  the  most  essential  branches  of  English  liberty  is 
the  freedom  of  one's  house.  A  man's  house  is  his  castle ; 
and  whilst  he  is  quiet,  he  is  as  well  guarded  as  a  prince  in 
his  castle.  This  writ,  if  it  should  be  declared  legal,  would 
5  totally  annihilate  this  privilege.  Custom-house  officers  may 
enter  our  houses  when  they  please ;  we  are  commanded  to 
permit  their  entry.  Their  menial  servants  may  enter,  may 
break  locks,  bars,  and  everything  in  their  way ;  and  whether 
they  break  through  malice  or  revenge,  no  man,  no  court  can 

10  inquire.  Bare  suspicion  without  oath  is  sufficient.  This 
wanton  exercise  of  this  power  is  not  a  chimerical  suggestion 
of  a  heate.d  brain.  I  will  mention  some  facts.  Mr.  Pew 
had  one  of  these  writs,  and  when  Mr.  Ware  succeeded  him, 
he  endorsed  this  writ  over  to  Mr.  Ware,  so  that  these  writs 

15 are  negotiable  from  one  officer  to  another;  and  so  your 
Honours  have  no  opportunity  of  judging  the  persons  to 
whom  this  vast  power  is  delegated.  Another  instance  is 
this:  Mr.  Justice  Walley  had  called  this  same  Mr.  Ware 


JAMES   OTIS  39 

before  him,  by  a  constable,  for  a  breach  of  the  Sabbath-day 
Acts,  or  that  of  profane  swearing.  As  soon  as  he  had  20 
finished,  Mr.  Ware  asked  him  if  he  had  done.  He  replied, 
"  Yes."  "  Well  then,"  said  Mr.  Ware,  "  I  will  show  you  a 
little  of  my  power.  I  command  you  to  permit  me  to  search 
your  house  for  uncustomed  goods,"  and  went  on  to  search 
the  house  from  garret  to  cellar;  and  then  served  the  con- 25 
stable  in  the  same  manner !  But  to  show  another  absurdity 
in  this  writ,  if  it  should  be  established,  I  insist  upon  it 
every  person,  by  the  14  Charles  II.,  has  this  power  as  well 
as  the  Custom-house  officers.  The  words  are,  "it  shall  be 
lawful  for  any  person  or  persons  authorized,  etc."  What  a  30 
scene  does  this  open!  Every  man  prompted  by  revenge, 
ill-humour  or  wantonness  to  inspect  the  inside  of  his  neigh 
bor's  house,  may  get  a  writ  of  assistance.  Others  will  ask 
it  from  self-defense;  one  arbitrary  exertion  will  provoke 
another,  until  society  be  involved  in  tumult  and  in  blood !  35 

Again,  these  writs  are  not  returned.  Writs,  in  their 
nature,  are  temporary  things.  When  the  purposes  for 
which  they  are  issued  are  answered,  they  exist  no  more; 
but  these  live  forever;  no  one  can  be  called  to  account. 
Thus  reason  and  the  constitution  are  both  against  this  writ.  40 
Let  us  see  what  authority  there  is  for  it.  Not  more  than 
one  instance  can  be  found  of  it  in  all  our  law-books ;  and 
that  was  in  the  zenith  of  arbitrary  power,  namely,  in  the 
reign  of  Charles  II.,  when  star-chamber  powers  were  pushed 
to  extremity  by  some  ignorant  clerk  of  the  exchequer.  But  45 
had  this  writ  been  in  any  book  whatever,  it  would  have  been 
illegal.  All  precedents  are  under  the  control  of  the  princi 
ples  of  law.  Lord  Talbot  says  it  is  better  to  observe  these 
than  any  precedents,  though  in  the  House  of  Lords  the  last 
resort  of  the  subject.  No  Acts  of  Parliament  can  establish  50 
such  a  writ ;  though  it  should  be  made  in  the  very  words  of 
the  petition,  it  would  be  void.  But  this  proves  no  more 


40  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

than  what  I  before  observed,  that  special  writs  may  be 
granted  on  oath  and  probable  suspicion.  The  act  of  7  and  8 

55  William  III.  that  the  officers  of  the  plantations  shall  have 
the  same  powers,  etc.,  is  confined  to  this  sense;  that  an 
officer  should  show  probable  ground ;  should  take  his  oath 
of  it:  should  do  this  before  a  magistrate;  and  that  such 
magistrate,  if  he  think  proper,  should  issue  a  special  war- 

60  rant  to  a  constable  to  search  the  places.  That  of  6  Anne 
can  prove  no  more. 


THOMAS  PAINE 

Times  that  Try  Men's  Souls 

(From  The  Crisis,  No.  1) 

These  are  the  times  that  try  men's  souls.  The  summer 
soldier  and  the  sunshine  patriot  will,  in  this  crisis,  shrink 
from  the  service  of  their  country ;  but  he  that  stands  it  now, 
deserves  the  love  and  thanks  of  man  and  woman.  Tyranny, 
5  like  hell,  is  not  easily  conquered ;  yet  we  have  this  conso 
lation  with  us,  that  the  harder  the  conflict,  the  more  glorious 
the  triumph.  What  we  obtain  too  cheap,  we  esteem  too 
lightly :  it  is  dearness  only  that  gives  every  thing  its  value. 
Heaven  knows  how  to  put  a  proper  price  upon  its  goods ; 

10  and  it  would  be  strange  indeed  if  so  celestial  an  article  as 
freedom  should  not  be  highly  rated.  Britain,  with  an  army 
to  enforce  her  tyranny,  has  declared  that  she  has  a  right 
(not  only  to  tax)  but  "  TO  BIND  us  in  ALL  CASES  WHATSOEVER," 
and  if  being  bound  in  that  manner,  is  not  slavery,  then  there 

15  is  not  such  a  thing  as  slavery  upon  earth.  Even  the  ex 
pression  is  impious ;  for  so  unlimited  a  power  can  belong 
only  to  God. 

Whether  the  independence  of  the  continent  was  declared 
too  soon,  or  delayed  too  long,  I  will  not  now  enter  into  as 


THOMAS   PAINE  *      41 

an  argument ;  my  own  simple  opinion  is,  that  had  it  been  20 
eight  months  earlier,  it  would  have  been  much  better.     We 
did  not  make  a  proper  use  of  last  winter,  neither  could  we, 
while  we  were  in  a  dependent  state.    .However,  the  fault, 
if  it  were  one,  was  all  our  own:  *we  have  none  to  blame 
but  ourselves.     But  no  great  deal  is  lost   yet.     All  that  25 
Howe  has  been  doing  this  month  past,  is  rather  a  ravage 
than  a  conquest,  which  the  spirit  of  the  Jerseys,  a  year  ago, 
would  have  quickly  repulsed,  and  which  time  and  a  little 
resolution  will  soon  recover. 

I  have  as  little  superstition  in  me  as  any  man  living,  but  30 
my  secret  opinion  has  ever  been,  and  still  is,  that  God  Al 
mighty  will  not  give  up  a  people  to  military  destruction,  or 
leave  them  unsupportedly  to  perish,  who  have  so  earnestly 
and  so  repeatedly  sought  to  avoid  the  calamities  of  war,  by 
every  decent  method  which  wisdom  could  invent.     Neither  35 
have  I  so  much  of  the  infidel  in  me,  as  to  suppose  that  He 
has  relinquished  the  government  of  the  world,  and  given  us 
up  to  the  care  of  devils  ;  and  as  I  do  not,  I  cannot  see  on 
what  grounds  the  king  of  Britain  can  look  up  to  heaven  for 
help  against  us  :  a  common  murderer,  a  highwayman,  or  a  40 
house-breaker,  has  as  good  a  pretence  as  he. 

'Tis  surprising  to  see  how  rapidly  a  panic  will  sometimes 
run  through  a  country.  All  nations  and  ages  have  been 
subject  to  them:  Britain  has  trembled  like  an  ague  at  the 
report  of  a  French  fleet  of  flat  bottomed  boats ;  and  in  the  45 
fourteenth  century  the  whole  English  army,  after  ravaging 
the  kingdom  of  France,  was  driven  back  like  men  petrified 
with  fear ;  and  this  brave  exploit  was  performed  by  a  few 

1  The  present  winter  is  worth  an  age,  if  rightly  employed ;  but  if  lost  or 
neglected,  the  whole  continent  will  partake  of  the  evil;  and  there  is  no 
punishment  that  man  does  not  deserve,  be  he  who,  or  what,  or  where  he 
will,  that  may  be  the  means  of  sacrificing  a  season  so  precious  and  useful. 
—  Author's  note,  a  citation  from  his  Common  Sense. 


42  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

broken  forces  collected  and  headed  by  a  woman,  Joan  of 
50  Arc.  Would  that  heaven  might  inspire  some  Jersey  maid 
to  spirit  up  her  countrymen,  and  save  her  fair  fellow  suffer 
ers  from  ravage  and  ravishment!  Yet  panics,  in  some 
cases,  have  their  uses;  they  produce  as  much  good  as  hurt. 
Their  duration  is  always  short;  the  mind  grows  through 
55  them,  and  acquires  a  firmer  habit  than  before.  But  their 
peculiar  advantage  is,  that  they  are  the  touchstones  of  sin 
cerity  and  hypocrisy,  and  bring  things  and  men  to  light, 
which  might  otherwise  have  lain  forever  undiscovered.  In 
fact,  they  have  the  same  effect  on  secret  traitors,  which  an 
60  imaginary  apparition  would  have  upon  a  private  murderer. 
They  sift  out  the  hidden  thoughts  of  man,  and  hold  them 
up  in  public  to  the  world.  Many  a  disguised  tory  has  lately 
shown  his  head,  that  shall  penitentially  solemnize  with 
curses  the  day  on  which  Howe  arrived  upon  the  Delaware. 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON 

(From  his  First  Inaugural) 

FELLOW-CITIZENS  OF  THE  SENATE  AND  HOUSE  OF  REPRE 
SENTATIVES  : 

Among  the  vicissitudes  incident  to  life,  no  event  could 
have  filled  me  with  greater  anxieties,  than  that  of  which 
the  notification  was  transmitted  by  your  order,  and  received 
on  the  14th  day  of  the  present  month.  On  the  one  hand,  I 
5  was  summoned  by  my  country,  whose  voice  I  can  never 
hear  but  with  veneration  and  love,  from  a  retreat  which  I 
had  chosen  with  the  fondest  predilection,  and,  in  my  flatter 
ing  hopes,  with  an  immutable  decision,  as  the  asylum  of  my 
declining  years;  a  retreat  which  was  rendered  every  day 
.10  more  necessary  as  well  as  more  dear  to  me,  by  the  addition 
of  habit  to  inclination,  and  of  frequent  interruptions  in  my 


GEORGE   WASHINGTON  43 

health  to  the  gradual  waste  committed  on  it  by  time.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  magnitude  and  difficulty  of  the  trust,  to 
which  the  voice  of  my  country  called  me,  being  sufficient  to 
awaken  in  the  wisest  and  most  experienced  of  her  citizens  15 
a  distrustful  scrutiny  into  his  qualifications,  could  not  but 
overwhelm  with  despondence  one,  who,  inheriting  inferior 
endowments  from  nature,  and  unpracticed  in  the  duties  of 
civil  administration,  ought  to  be  peculiarly  conscious  of  his 
own  deficiencies.  In  this  conflict  of  emotions,  all  I  dare  20 
aver  is,  that  it  has  been  my  faithful  study  to  collect  my 
duty  from  a  just  appreciation  of  every  circumstance  by 
which  it  might  be  affected.  All  I  dare  hope  is,  that,  if  in 
•executing  this  task,  I  have  been  too  much  swayed  by  a 
grateful  remembrance  of  former  instances,  or  by  an  affec-25 
tionate  sensibility  to  this  transcendent  proof  of  the  con 
fidence  of  my  fellow-citizens;  and  have  hence  too  little 
•consulted  my  incapacity  as  well  as  disinclination  for  the 
weighty  and  untried  cares  before  me ;  my  error  will  be  pal 
liated  by  the  motives  which  misled  me,  and  its  consequences  30 
•be  judged  by  my  country  with  some  share  of  the  partiality 
in  which  they  originated. 

*  #  =*  #=  #  *  * 

To  the  preceding  observations  I  have  one  to  add,  which 
•will  be  most  properly  addressed  to  the  House  of  Representa 
tives.  It  concerns  myself,  and  will  therefore  be  as  brief  35 
as  possible.  When  I  was  first  honored  with  a  call  into  the 
service  of  my  country,  then  on  the  eve  of  an  arduous  strug 
gle  for  its  liberties,  the  light  in  which  I  contemplated  my 
duty,  required  that  I  should  renounce  every  pecuniary  com 
pensation.  From  this  resolution  I  have  in  no  instance  de-  40 
parted.  And  being  still  under  the  impressions  which 
produced  it,  I  must  decline  as  inapplicable  to  myself  any 
share  in  the  personal  emoluments,  which  may  be  indispen 
sably  included  in  a  permanent  provision  for  the  executive 


44  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

45  department ;  and  must  accordingly  pray,  that  the  pecuniary 
estimates  for  the  station  in  which  I  am  placed  may,  during 
my  continuance  in  it,  be  limited  to  such  actual  expenditures 
as  the  public  good  may  be  thought  to  require. 

Having  thus  imparted  to  you  my  sentiments,  as  they  have 

50  been  awakened  by  the  occasion  which  brings  us  together,  I 
shall  take  my  present  leave ;  but  not  without  resorting  once 
more  to  the  benign  Parent  of  the  human  race,  in  humble 
supplication,  that,  since  he  has  been  pleased  to  favor  the 
American  people  with  opportunities  for  deliberating  in  per- 

55  feet  tranquillity,  and  dispositions  for  deciding  with  unpar 
alleled  unanimity  on  a  form  of  government  for  the  security 
of  their  union  and  the  advancement  of  their  happiness;  so 
his  divine  blessing  may  be  equally  conspicuous  in  the  en 
larged  views,  the  temperate  consultations,  and  the  wise 

60  measures,  on  which  the  success  of  this  government  must 
depend. 

THOMAS   JEFFERSON 

(From  A  Summary  View  of  the  Rights  of  British  America) 

That  these  are  our  grievances,  which  we  have  thus  laid 
before  his  majesty,  with  that  freedom  of  language  and  sen 
timent  which  becomes  a  free  people  claiming  their  rights, 
as  derived  from  the  laws  of  nature,  and  not  as  the  gift  of 
5  their  chief  magistrate :  let  those  flatter  who  fear ;  it  is  not, 
an  American  art.  To  give  praise  which  is  not  due,  might 
be  well  from  the  venal,  but  would  ill  beseem  those  who  are 
asserting  the  rights  of  human  nature.  They  know,  and  will 
therefore  say,  that  kings  are  the  servants,  not  the  proprie- 
10  tors  of  the  people.  Open  your  breast,  Sire,  to  liberal  and 
expanding  thought.  Let  not  the  name  of  George  the  Third 
be  a  blot  in  the  page  of  history.  You  are  surrounded  by 
British  counsellors,  but  remember  that  they  are  parties. 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON  45 

You  have  no  ministers  for  American  affairs,  because  you 
have  none  taken  from  among  us,  nor  amenable  to  the  laws  15 
on  which  they  are  to  give  advice.     It  behoves  you,  there 
fore,  to  think  and  to  act  for  yourself  and  your  people.    The 
great  principles  of  right  and  wrong  are  legible  to  every 
reader ;  to  pursue  them,  requires  not  the  aid  of  many  coun 
sellors.     The  whole  art  of  government  consists  in  the  art  of  20 
being  honest.     Only  aim  to  do  your  duty,  and  mankind  will 
give  you  credit  where  you  fail.     No  longer  persevere  in 
sacrificing  the  rights  of  one  part  of  the  empire  to  the  inor 
dinate  desires  of  another ;  but  deal  out  to  all  equal  and  im 
partial  right.     Let  no  act  be  passed  by  any  one  legislature,  25 
which  may  infringe  on  the  rights  and  liberties  of  another. 
This  is  the  important  post  in  which  fortune  has  placed  you, 
holding  the  balance  of  a  great,  if  a  well  poised  empire.   This, 
Sire,  is  the  advice  of  your  great  American  council,  on  the 
observance  of  which  may,  perhaps,  depend  your  felicity  and  30 
future  fame,  and  the  preservation  of  that  harmony,  which 
alone  can  continue  both  to  Great  Britain  and  America,  the 
reciprocal  advantages  of  their  connection.     It  is  neither  our 
wish,  nor  our  interest  to  separate  from  her.     We  are  will 
ing,  on  our  part,  to  sacrifice  every  thing  which  reason  can  35 
ask,  to  the  restoration  of  that  tranquility  for  which  all  must 
wish.     On  their  part,  let  them  be  ready  to  establish  union 
and  a  generous  plan.     Let  them  name  their  terms,  but  let 
them  be  just.     Accept  of  every  commercial  preference  it  is 
in  our  power  to  give  for  such  things  as  we  can  raise  for  their  40 
use,  or  they  make  for  ours.     But  let  them  not  think  to  ex 
clude  us  from  going  to  other  markets  to  dispose  of  those 
commodities  which  they  cannot  use,  or  to   supply   those 
wants  which  they  cannot  supply.     Still  less,  let  it  be  pro 
posed  that  our  properties  within  our  own  territories,  shall  45 
be  taxed  or  regulated  by  any  power  on  earth  but  our  own. 
The  God  who  gave  us  life,  gave  us  liberty  at  the  same  time ; 


46  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

the  hand  of  force  may  destroy,  but  cannot  disjoin  them. 
This,  Sire,  is  our  last,  our  determined  resolution ;  and  that 

50  you  will  be  pleased  to  interpose  with  that  efficacy  which 
your  earnest  endeavours  may  ensure  to  procure  redress  of 
these  our  great  grievances,  to  quiet  the  minds  of  your  sub 
jects  in  British  America,  against  any  apprehensions  of  fu 
ture  encroachment,  to  establish  fraternal  love  and  harmony 

55  through  the  whole  empire,  and  that  these  may  continue  to 
the  latest  ages  of  time,  is  the  fervent  prayer  of  all  British 
America ! 

ALEXANDER   HAMILTON 

The  Union  as  a  Safeguard  Against  Domestic  Faction  and 
Insurrection 

(From  The  Federalist,  No.  IX) 

To  THE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  STATE  OF  NEW  YORK: 

A  firm  Union  will  be  of  the  utmost  moment  to  the  peace 
and  liberty  of  the  States,  as  a  barrier  against  domestic  fac 
tion  and  insurrection.  It  is  impossible  to  read  the  history 
5  of  the  petty  republics  of  Greece  and  Italy  without  feeling 
sensations  of  horror  and  disgust  at  the  distractions  with, 
which  they  were  continually  agitated,  and  at  the  rapid  sue 
cession  of  revolutions  by  which  they  were  kept  in  a  state  of 
perpetual  vibration  between  the  extremes  of  tyranny  and 

10  anarchy.  If  they  exhibit  occasional  calms,  these  only  serve 
as  short-lived  contrasts  to  the  furious  storms  that  are  to 
succeed.  If  now  and  then  intervals  open  to  view,  we  be 
hold  them  with  a  mixture  of  regret,  arising  from  the  reflec 
tion  that  the  pleasing  scenes  before  us  are  soon  to  be  over- 

15  whelmed  by  the  tempestuous  waves  of  sedition  and  party 
rage.  If  momentary  rays  of  glory  break  forth  from  the 
gloom,  while  they  dazzle  us  with  a  transient  and  fleeting 


ALEXANDER   HAMILTON  47 

brilliancy,  they  at  the  same  time  admonish  us  to  lament 
that  the  vices  of  government  should  pervert  the  direction 
and  tarnish  the  lustre  of  those  bright  talents  and  exalted  20 
endowments   for  which  the   favored  souls   that  produced 
them  have  been  so  justly  celebrated. 

From  the  disorders  that  disfigure  the  annals  of  those 
republics  the  advocates  of  despotism  have  drawn  arguments, 
not  only  against  the  forms  of  republican  government,  but  25 
against  the  very  principles  of  civil  liberty.  They  have 
decried  all  free  government  as  inconsistent  with  the  order 
of  society,  and  have  indulged  themselves  in  malicious  exul 
tation  over  its  friends  and  partisans.  Happily  for  man 
kind,  stupendous  fabrics  reared  on  the  basis  of  liberty,  30 
which  have  flourished  for  ages,  have,  in  a  few  glorious  in 
stances,  refuted  their  gloomy  sophisms.  And,  I  trust, 
America  will  be  the  broad  and  solid  foundation  of  other 
edifices,  not  less  magnificent,  which  will  be  equally  perma 
nent  monuments  of  their  errors.  35 

But  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  the  portraits  they  have 
sketched  of  republican  government  were  too  just  copies  of 
the  originals  from  which  they  were  taken.  If  it  had  been 
found  impracticable  to  have  devised  models  of  a  more  per 
fect  structure,  the  enlightened  friends  to  liberty  would  have  40 
been  obliged  to  abandon  the  cause  of  that  species  of  govern 
ment  as  indefensible.  The  science  of  politics,  however,  like 
most  other  sciences,  has  received  great  improvement.  The 
efficacy  of  various  principles  is  now  well  understood,  which 
were  either  not  known  at  all,  or  imperfectly  known  to  the  45 
ancients.  The  regular  distribution  of  power  into  distinct 
departments;  the  institution  of  courts  composed  of  judges 
holding  their  offices  during  good  behaviour ;  the  representa 
tion  of  the  people  in  the  legislature  by  deputies  of  their 
own  election:  these  are  wholly  new  discoveries,  or  have 50 
made  their  principal  progress  towards  perfection  in  modern 


48  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

times.  They  are  means,  and  powerful  means,  by  which  the 
excellences  of  republican  government  may  be  retained  and 
its  imperfections  lessened  or  avoided.  To  this  catalogue  of 

55  circumstances  that  tend  to  the  amelioration  of  popular  sys 
tems  of  civil  government,  I  shall  venture,  however  it  may 
appear  to  some,  to  add  one  more,  on  a  principle  which  has 
been  made  the  foundation  of  an  objection  to  the  new  Con 
stitution  ;  I  mean  the  ENLARGEMENT  of  the  ORBIT  within 

60  which  such  systems  are  to  revolve,  either  in  respect  to  the 
dimensions  of  a  single  State,  or  to  the  consolidation  of  sev 
eral  smaller  States  into  one  great  Confederacy.  The  latter 
is  that  which  immediately  concerns  the  object  under  consid 
eration.  It  will,  however,  be  of  use  to  examine  the  princi- 

65  pie  in  its  application  to  a  single  State,  which  shall  be 
attended  to  in  another  place. 

The  utility  of  a  Confederacy  as  well  to  suppress  fac 
tion  and  to  guard  the  internal  tranquillity  of  states,  as  to 
increase  their  external  force  and  security,  is  in  reality  not  a 

70  new  idea.  It  has  been  practised  upon  in  different  countries 
and  ages,  and  has  received  the  sanction  of  the  most  ap 
proved  writers  on  the  subject  of  politics.  The  opponents 
of  the  plan  proposed  have,  with  great  assiduity,  cited  and 
circulated  the  observations  of  Montesquieu  on  the  necessity 

75  of  contracted  territory  for  a  republican  government.  But 
they  seem  not  to  have  been  apprised  of  the  sentiments  of 
that  great  man  expressed  in  another  part  of  his  work,  nor 
to  Have  adverted  to  the  consequences  of  the  principle  to 
which  they  subscribe  with  such  ready  acquiescence. 

80  When  Montesquieu  recommends  a  small  extent  for  re 
publics,  the  standards  he  had  in  view  were  of  dimensions 
far  short  of  the  limits  of  almost  every  one  of  these  States. 
Neither  Virginia,  Massachusetts,  Pennsylvania,  New  York, 
North  Carolina,  nor  Georgia  can  by  any  means  be  coin- 

85  pared   with   the   models   from   which   he  reasoned  and  to 


JOHN   WOOLMAN  49 

which  the  terms  of  his  description  apply.  If  we  therefore 
take  his  ideas  on  this  point  as  the  criterion  of  truth,  we 
shall  be  driven  to  the  alternative  either  of  taking  refuge  at 
once  in  the  arms  of  monarchy,  or  of  splitting  ourselves  into 
an  infinity  of  little,  jealous,  clashing,  tumultuous  common- 90 
wealths,  the  wretched  nurseries  of  unceasing  discord,  and 
the  miserable  objects  of  universal  pity  or  contempt.  Some 
of  the  writers  who  have  come  forward  on  the  other  side  of 
the  question  seem  to  have  been  aware  of  the  dilemma ;  and 
have  even  been  bold  enough  to  hint  at  the  division  of  the  95 
larger  States  as  a  desirable  thing.  Such  an  infatuated 
policy,  such  a  desperate  expedient,  might,  by  the  multipli 
cation  of  petty  officers,  answer  the  views  of  men  who 
possess  not  qualifications  to  extend  their  influence  beyond 
the  narrow  circles  of  personal  intrigue,  but  it  could  never  100 
promote  the  greatness  or  happiness  of  the  people  of 
America. 

JOHN  WOOLMAN 
An  Anti-slavery  Mission 

(From  his  Journal) 

As  the  people  in  this  and  the  southern  provinces  live 
much  on  the  labor  of  slaves,  many  of  whom  are  used 
hardly,  my  concern  was,  that  I  might  attend  with  singleness 
of  heart  to  the  voice  of  the  true  Shepherd,  and  be  so 
supported  as  to  remain  unmoved  at  the  faces  of  men.  5 

As  it  is  common  for  Friends  on  such  a  visit  to  have  enter 
tainment  free  of  cost,  a  difficulty  arose  in  my  mind  with 
respect  to  saving  my  money  by  kindness  received,  which  to 
me  appeared  to  be  the  gain  of  oppression. 

Keceiving  a  gift,  considered  as  a  gift,  brings  the  receiver  10 
under  obligations  to  the  benefactor,  and  has  a  natural  ten 
dency  to  draw  the  obliged  into  a  party  with  the  giver.     To 


50  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

prevent  difficulties  of  this  kind,  and  to  preserve  the  minds 
of  judges  from  any  bias,  was  that  Divine  prohibition; 

15  "  Thou  shalt  not  receive  any  gift ;  for  a  gift  blindeth  the 
wise,  and  perverteth  the  words  of  the  righteous."  As  the 
disciples  were  sent  forth  without  any  provision  for  their 
journey,  and  our  Lord  said  the  workman  is  worthy  of  his 
meat,  their  labor  in  the  Gospel  was  considered  as  a  reward 

20  for  their  entertainment,  and  therefore  not  received  as  a 
gift ;  yet,  in  regard  to  my  present  journey,  I  could  not  see 
my  way  clear  in  that  respect.  The  difference  appeared 
thus :  The  entertainment  the  disciples  met  with,  was  from 
such  whose  hearts  God  had  opened  to  receive  them,  from  a 

25  love  to  them,  and  the  truth  they  published.  But  we,  con 
sidered  as  members  of  the  same  religious  Society,  look  upon 
it  as  a  piece  of  civility  to  receive  each  other  in  such  visits ; 
and  such  reception,  at  times,  is  partly  in  regard  to  reputa 
tion,  and  not  from  an  inward  unity  of  heart  and  spirit. 

30  Conduct  is  more  convincing  than  language ;  and  where 
people,  by  their  actions,  manifest  that  the  slave-trade  is 
not  so  disagreeable  to  their  principles  but  that  it  may  be 
encouraged,  there  is  not  a  sound  uniting  with  some  Friends 
who  visit  them. 

35  The  prospect  of  so  weighty  a  work,  and  being  so  distin 
guished  from  many  whom  I  esteemed  before  myself,  brought 
me  very  low ;  and  such  were  the  conflicts  of  my  soul,  that 
I  had  a  near  sympathy  with  the  prophet,  in  the  time  of  his 
weakness,  when  he  said,  "  If  thou  deal  thus  with  me,  kill 

40  me,  I  pray  thee,  if  I  have  found  favor  in  thy  sight " ;  but  I 
soon  saw  that  this  proceeded  from  the  want  of  a  full  resig 
nation  to  the  Divine  will.  Many  were  the  afflictions  which 
attended  me ;  and  in  great  abasement,  with  many  tears,  my 
cries  were  to  the  Almighty,  for  his  gracious  and  fatherly 

45  assistance ;  and  then,  after  a  time  of  deep  trial,  I  was 
favored  to  understand  the  state  mentioned  by  the  Psalmist, 


JOHN   WOOLMAN  51 

more  clearly  than  ever  I  had  before ;  to  wit :  "  My  soul  is 
even  as  a  weaned  child.77  Being  thus  helped  to  sink  down 
into  resignation,  I  felt  a  deliverance  from  that  tempest  in 
which  I  had  been  sorely  exercised,  and  in  calmness  of  mind  50 
went  forward,  trusting  that  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  as  I 
faithfully  attended  to  him,  would  be  a  counsellor  to  me  in 
all  difficulties ;  and  that  by  his  strength  I  should  be  enabled 
even  to  leave  money  with  the  members  of  Society  where  I 
had  entertainment,  when  I  found  that  omitting  it  would  ob-  55 
struct  that  work  to  which  I  believed  he  had  called  me. 
And  as  I  copy  this  after  my  return,  I  may  add,  that  often 
times  I  did  so,  under  a  sense  of  duty.  The  way  in  which  I 
did  it  was  this ;  when  I  expected  soon  to  leave  a  Friend's 
house  where  I  had  had  entertainment,  if  I  believed  that  1 60 
should  not  keep  clear  from  the  gains  of  oppression  without 
leaving  money,  I  spoke  to  one  of  the  heads  of  the  family 
privately,  and  desired  him  to  accept  of  some  pieces  of  silver, 
and  give  them  to  such  of  the  negroes  as  he  believed  would 
make  the  best  use  of  them ;  and  at  other  times  I  gave  them  65 
to  the  negroes  myself,  as  the  way  looked  clearest  to  me. 
As  I  expected  this  before  I  came  out,  I  had  provided  a  large 
number  of  small  pieces;  and  thus  offering  them  to  some 
who  appeared  to  be  wealthy  people,  was  a  trial  both  to  me 
and  them  :  but  the  fear  of  the  Lord  so  covered  me  at  times,  70 
that  my  way  was  made  easier  than  I  expected;  and  few,  if 
any,  manifested  any  resentment  at  the  offer,  and  most  of 
them,  after  some  talk,  accepted  of  them. 

The  7th  day  of  the  fifth  month,  in  the  year  1757, 1  lodged 
at  a  Friend's  house,  who  putting  us  a  little  on  our  way,  1 75 
had  conversation  with  him  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord,  concern 
ing  his  slaves;  in  which  my  heart  was  tender,  and  I  used 
much  plainness  of  speech  with  him,  which  he  appeared  to 
take  kindly.  We  pursued  our  journey  without  appointing 
meetings,  being  pressed  in  my  mind  to  be  at  the  Yearly  80 


52  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Meeting  in  Virginia.  In  my  travelling  on  the  road,  I  often 
felt  a  cry  rising  from  the  center  of  my  mind,  0  Lord,  I  am 
a  stranger  on  the  earth,  hide  not  thy  face  from  me.  On  the 
llth  day  of  the  fifth  month,  we  crossed  the  rivers  Potomac 
85  and  Rappahannock,  and  lodged  at  Port  Royal :  and  on  the 
way  we  happening  in  company  with  a  colonel  of  the  militia, 
who  appeared  to  be  a  thoughtful  man,  I  took  occasion  to 
remark  on  the  difference  in  general  between  a  people  used 
to  labor  moderately  for  their  living,  training  up  their  chil- 
90  dren  in  frugality  and  business,  and  those  who  live  on  the 
labor  of  slaves;  the  former,  in  my  view,  being  the  most 
happy  life:  with  which  he  concurred,  and  mentioned  the 
trouble  arising  from  the  untoward,  slothful  disposition  of 
the  negroes ;  adding,  that  one  of  our  laborers  would  do  as 
95  much  in  a  day  as  two  of  their  slaves.  I  replied,  that  free 
men,  whose  minds  were  properly  on  their  business,  found 
a  satisfaction  in  improving,  cultivating,  and  providing  for 
their  families ;  but  negroes,  laboring  to  support  others,  who 
claim  them  as  their  property,  and  expecting  nothing  but 

100  slavery  during  life,  had  not  the  like  inducement  to  be  in 
dustrious. 

After  some  further  conversation,  I  said  that  men  having 
power,  too  often  misapplied  it ;  that  though  we  made  slaves 
of  the  negroes,  and  the  Turks  made  slaves  of  the  Christians, 

105 1  believed  that  liberty  was  the  natural  right  of  all  men 
equally  ;  which  he  did  not  deny ;  but  said  the  lives  of  the 
negroes  were  so  wretched  in  their  own  country,  that  many 
of  them  lived  better  here  than  there.  I  only  said  there  is 
great  odds  in  regard  to  us,  on  what  principle  we  act ;  and 

110  so  the  conversation  on  that  subject  ended.  I  may  here  add, 
that  another  person,  some  time  afterward,  mentioned  the 
wretchedness  of  the  negroes,  occasioned  by  their  intestine 
wars,  as  an  argument  in  favor  of  our  fetching  them  away 
as  slaves ;  to  which  I  then  replied,  if  compassion  on  the 


FRANCIS  HOPKINSON  53 

Africans,  in   regard   to  their   domestic  troubles,  were   the  115 
real  motives  of  our  purchasing  them,  that  spirit  of  tender 
ness  being  attended  to,  would  incite  us  to  use  them  kindly, 
that  as  strangers  brought  out  of  affliction,  their  lives  might 
be   happy  among   us ;  and   as   they  are   human   creatures, 
whose  souls  are  as  precious  as  ours,  and  who  may  receive  120 
the  same  help  and  comfort  from  the  holy  Scriptures  as  we 
do,  we  could  not  omit  suitable  endeavors  to  instruct  them 
therein.     But  while  we  manifest  by  our  conduct,  that  our 
views  in  purchasing  them  are  to  advance  ourselves;   and 
while  our   buying   captives  taken  in  war,  animates  those  125 
parties  to  push  on  that  war,  and  increase  desolation  amongst 
them ;  to  say  they  live  unhappily  in  Africa,  is  far  from' 
being  an  argument  in  our  favor.     I  further  said,  the  present 
circumstances  of  these  provinces  to  me  appear  difficult;  the 
slaves  look  like  a  burthensome  stone  to  such  who  burthen  130 
themselves  with  them,  and  that  if  the  white  people  retain  a 
resolution  to  prefer  their  outward  prospects  of  gain  to  all 
other  considerations,  and  do  not  act  conscientiously  toward 
them  as  fellow-creatures,  I  believe  that  burthen  will  grow 
heavier  and  heavier,  until  times  change  in  a  way  disagree- 135 
able  to  us.     At  this  the  person  appeared  very  serious,  and 
owned,  that  in  considering  their  condition,  and  the  manner 
of  their  treatment  in  these  provinces,  he  had  sometimes 
thought  it  might  be  just  in  the  Almighty  so  to  order  it. 


FRANCIS    HOPKINSON 
(From  The  Battle  of  the  Kegs) 

Gallants  attend  and  hear  a  friend 
Trill  forth  harmonious  ditty, 

Strange  things  I'll  tell  which  late  befell 
In  Philadelphia  city. 


54  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

6  'Twas  early  day,  as  poets  say, 

Just  when  the  sun  was  rising, 

A  soldier  stood  on  a  log  of  wood, 

And  saw  a  thing  surprising. 

As  in  amaze  he  stood  to  gaze, 
10  The  truth  can't  be  denied,  sir, 

He  spied  a  score  of  kegs  or  more 
Come  floating  down  the  tide,  sir. 

A  sailor  too  in  jerkin  blue, 

This  strange  appearance  viewing, 

!5  First  damn'd  his  eyes,  in  great  surprise, 

Then  said  some  mischief's  brewing. 

These  kegs,  I'm  told,  the  rebels  bold, 

Pack'd  up  like  pickling  herring ; 
And  they're  come  down  t'attack  the  town, 
20  In  this  new  way  of  ferrying. 

The  soldier  flew,  the  sailor  too, 
And  scar'd  almost  to  death,  sir, 

Wore  out  their  shoes,  to  spread  the  news, 
And  ran  till  out  of  breath,  sir. 

25  Now  up  and  down  throughout  the  town, 

Most  frantic  scenes  were  acted; 
And  some  ran  here,  and  others  there, 
Like  men  almost  distracted. 
***** 
"  Arise,  arise,"  sir  Erskine  cries, 
30  "  The  rebels  —  more's  the  pity, 

Without  a  boat  are  all  afloat, 
And  rang'd  before  the  city. 

"  The  motley  crew,  in  vessels  new, 
With  Satan  for  their  guide,  sir, 

35  Pack'd  up  in  bags,  or  wooden  kegs, 

Come  driving  down  the  tide,  sir. 


FRANCIS   HOPKINSON  55 

"  Therefore  prepare  for  bloody  war, 

These  kegs  must  all  be  routed, 
Or  surely  we  despised  shall  be, 

And  British  courage  doubted."  40 

The  royal  band,  now  ready  stand 

All  rang'd  in  dread  array,  sir, 
With  stomach  stout  to  see  it  out, 

And  make  a  bloody  day,  sir. 

The  cannons  roar  from  shore  to  shore,  45 

The  small  arms  make  a  rattle ; 
Since  wars  began  I'm  sure  nc  man 

E'er  saw  so  strange  a  battle. 

The  rebel  dales,  the  rebel  vales, 

With  rebel  trees  surrounded ;  50 

The  distant  wood,  the  hills  and  floods, 

With  rebel  echoes  sounded. 

The  fish  below  swam  to  arid  fro, 

Attack'd  from  ev'ry  quarter; 
Why  sure,  thought  they,  the  devil's  to  pay,  55 

'Mongst  folks  above  the  water. 

The  kegs,  'tis  said,  tho'  strongly  made, 

Of  rebel  staves  and  hoops,  sir, 
Could  not  oppose  their  powerful  foes, 

The  conqu'ring  British  troops,  sir.  60 

From  morn  to  night  these  men  of  might 

Display'd  amazing  courage ; 
And  when  the  sun  was  fairly  down, 

Retir'd  to  sup  their  porrage. 

An  hundred  men  with  each  a  pen,  55 

Or  more  upon  my  word,  sir, 
It  is  most  true  would  be  too  few, 

Their  valour  to  record,  sir. 


56  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Such  feats  did  they  perform  that  day, 
70  Against  these  wick'd  kegs,  sir, 

That  years  to  come,  if  they  get  home, 
They'll  make  their  boasts  and  brags,  sir. 


ANONYMOUS   REVOLUTIONARY   SONGS 
Paul  Jones 

A  song  unto  Liberty's  brave  Buccaneer, 

Ever  bright  be  the  fame  of  the  patriot  Rover, 
For  our  rights  he  first  fought  in  his  "black  privateer," 

And  faced  the  proud  foe  ere  our  sea  they  cross'd  over, 
5  In  their  channel  and  coast, 

He  scattered  their  host, 

And  proud  Britain  robbed  of  her  sea-ruling  boast, 
And  her  rich  merchants'  barks  shunned  the  ocean  in  fear 
Of  Paul  Jones,  fair  Liberty's  brave  Buccaneer. 

10     In  the  first  fleet  that  sailed  in  defence  of  our  laud, 

Paul  Jones  forward  stood  to  defend  freedom's  arbor, 
He  led  the  bold  Alfred  at  Hopkins'  command, 

And  drove  the  fierce  foeman  from  Providence  harbor, 

'Twas  his  hand  that  raised 
15  The  first  flag  that  blazed, 

And  his  deeds  'iieath  the  "  Pine  tree  "  all  ocean  amaz'd, 

For  hundreds  of  foes  met  a  watery  bier 

From  Paul  Jones,  fair  Liberty's  brave  Buccaneer. 

His  arm  crushed  the  Tory  and  mutinous  crew 
20         That  strove  to  have  freemen  inhumanly  butchered; 
Remembered  his  valor  at  proud  Flamborough, 

When  he  made  the  bold  Serapis  strike  to  the  Richard; 
Oh !  he  robbed  of  their  store 
The  vessels  sent  o'er 
25      To  feed  all  the  Tories  and  foes  on  our  shore, 

He  gave  freemen  the  spoils  and  long  may  they  revere 
The  name  of  fair  Liberty's  brave  Buccaneer. 


ANONYMOUS  REVOLUTIONARY  SONGS         57 


The  Riflemen's  Song  at  Bennington 

Why  come  ye  hither,  stranger? 

Your  mind  what  madness  fills? 
In  our  valleys  there  is  danger, 

And  danger  on  our  hills ! 
Hear  ye  not  the  singing  6 

Of  the  bugle,  wild  and  free  ? 
Full  soon  ye'll  know  the  ringing 

Of  the  rifle  from  the  tree  ! 
The  rifle,  the  sharp  rifle ! 
In  our  hands  it  is  no  trifle !  10 


Ye  ride  a  goodly  steed; 

He  may  know  another  master : 
Ye  forward  come  with  speed, 

But  ye'll  learn  to  back  much  faster, 
When  ye  meet  our  mountain  boys  15 

And  their  leader,  Johnny  Stark  1 
Lads  who  make  but  little  noise, 

But  who  always  hit  the  mark 
With  the  rifle,  the  true  rifle ! 
In  their  hands  will  prove  no  trifle  I  20 


Had  ye  no  graves  at  home 

Across  the  briny  water, 
That  hither  ye  must  come, 

Like  bullocks  to  the  slaughter? 
If  we  the  work  must  do,  25 

Why,  the  sooner  'tis  begun, 
If  flint  and  trigger  hold  but  true, 

The  quicker  'twill  be  done 
By  the  rifle,  the  good  rifle  ! 
In  our  hands  it  is  no  trifle  !  30 


58  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

TIMOTHY  DWIGHT 
Columbia 

Columbia,  Columbia,  to  glory  arise, 
The  queen  of  the  world,  and  child  of  the  skies ! 
Thy  genius  commands  thee ;  with  raptures  behold, 
While  ages  on  ages  thy  splendours  unfold. 
6  Thy  reign  is  the  last,  and  the  noblest  of  time, 

Most  fruitful  thy  soil,  most  inviting  thy  clime. 
Let  the  crimes  of  the  east  ne'er  encrimson  thy  name, 
Be  freedom,  and  science,  and  virtue,  thy  fame. 
To  conquest,  and  slaughter,  let  Europe  aspire, 

10  Whelm  nations  in  blood,  and  wrap  cities  in  fire. 

Thy  heroes  the  rights  of  mankind  shall  defend, 
And  triumph  pursue  them,  and  glory  attend. 
A  world  is  thy  realm  :  for  a  world  be  thy  laws, 
Enlarg'd  as  thine  empire,  and  just  as  thy  cause ; 

15  On  Freedom's  broad  basis,  that  empire  shall  rise, 

Extend  with  the  main,  and  dissolve  with  the  skies. 

Fair  Science  her  gates  to  thy  sons  shall  unbar, 
And  the  east  see  thy  morn  hide  the  beams  of  her  star. 
New  bards,  and  new  sages,  unrival'd  shall  soar 

20  To  fame,  unextinguish'd,  when  time  is  no  more ; 

To  thee,  the  last  refuge  of  virtue  design'd, 
Shall  fly  from  all  nations  the  best  of  mankind ; 
Here,  grateful  to  heaven,  with  transport  shall  bring 
Their  incense,  more  fragrant  than  odours  of  spring. 

25  Nor  less  shall  thy  fair  ones  to  glory  ascend, 

And  Genius  and  Beauty  in  harmony  blend; 
The  graces  of  form  shall  awake  pure  desire, 
And  the  charms  of  the  soul  ever  cherish  the  fire  ; 
Their  sweetness  unmingled,  their  manners  refin'd, 

30  And  Virtue's  bright  image,  instamp'd  on  the  mind, 

With  peace,  and  soft  rapture,  shall  teach  life  to  glow, 
And  light  up  a 'smile  in  the  aspect  of  woe. 

Thy  fleets  to  all  nations  thy  pow'r  shall  display, 
The  nations  admire,  and  the  ocean  obey ; 


JOHN  TRUMBULL  59 

Each  shore  to  thy  glory  its  tribute  unfold,  35 

And  the  east  and  the  south  yield  their  spices  and  gold. 

As  the  day-spring  unbounded,  thy  splendour  shall  flow, 

And  earth's  little  kingdoms  before  thee  shall  bow; 

While  the  ensigns  of  union,  in  triumph  unf  url'd, 

Hush  the  tumult  of  war,  and  give  peace  to  the  world.  40 

Thus,  as  down  a  lone  valley,  with  cedars  o'erspread, 
From  war's  dread  confusion  I  pensively  stray'd  — 
The  gloom  from  the  face  of  fair  heav'n  retir'd ; 
The  winds  ceas'd  to  murmur ;  the  thunders  expir'd  ; 
Perfumes,  as  of  Eden,  flow'd  sweetly  along,  45 

And  a  voice,  as  of  angels,  enchantingly  sung  : 
"  Columbia,  Columbia,  to  glory  arise, 
The  queen  of  the  world,  and  the  child  of  the  skies." 


JOHN   TRUMBULL 

McFingal's  Sentence 

(From  McFingal,  Canto  III) 

Meanwhile  beside  the  pole,  the  guard 

A  Bench  of  Justice  had  prepared, 

Where  sitting  round  in  awful  sort 

The  grand  Committee  held  their  Court; 

While  all  the  crew,  in  silent  awe,  5 

Wait  from  their  lips  the  lore  of  law. 

Few  moments  with  deliberation 

They  hold  the  solemn  consultation ; 

When  soon  in  judgment  all  agree, 

And  Clerk  proclaims  the  dread  decree ;  10 

"  That  'Squire  McFiNGAL  having  grown 

The  vilest  Tory  in  the  town, 

And  now  in  full  examination 

Convicted  by  his  own  confession, 

Finding  no  tokens  of  repentance,  15 

This  Court  proceeds  to  render  sentence  : 


60  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

That  first  the  Mob  a  slip-knot  single 
Tie  round  the  neck  of  said  McFingal, 
And  in  due  form  do  tar  him  next, 
20  And  feather,  as  the  law  directs  ; 

Then  through  the  town  attendant  ride  him. 
In  cart  with  Constable  beside  him, 
And  having  held  him  up  to  shame, 
Bring  to  the  pole,  from  whence  he  came.* 


McFingaTs  Flight 
(From  McFingal,  Canto  IV) 

McFingal  deem'd  it  vain  to  stay, 
And  risk  his  bones  in  second  fray : 
But  chose  a  grand  retreat  from  foes, 
In  literal  sense,  beneath  their  nose. 
6  The  window  then,  which  none  else  knew- 

He  softly  open'd  and  crept  through, 
And  crawling  slow  in  deadly  fear, 
By  movements  wise  made  good  his  rear. 
Then  scorning  all  the  fame  of  martyr, 

10  For  Boston  took  his  swift  departure, 

Nor  looked  back  on  the  fatal  spot, 
More  than  the  family  of  Lot. 
Not  North  in  more  distressed  condition, 
Out-voted  first  by  opposition  ; 

15  Nor  good  King  George,  when  our  dire  phantom 

Of  Independence  came  to  haunt  him, 
Which  hovering  round  by  night  and  day, 
Not  all  his  conj'rors  e'er  could  lay. 
His  friends,  assembled  for  his  sake, 

20  He  wisely  left  in  pawn,  at  stake, 

To  tarring,  feath'ring,  kicks  and  drubs 
Of  furious,  disappointed  mobs, 
Or  with  their  forfeit  heads  to  pay 
For  him,  their  leader,  crept  away. 


JOEL   BARLOW  61 

So  when  wise  Noah  summon'd  greeting,  25 

All  animals  to  gen'ral  meeting, 

From  every  side  the  members  went, 

All  kinds  of  beasts  to  represent ; 

Each,  from  the  flood,  took  care  t'embark, 

And  save  his  carcase  in  the  ark :  30 

But  as  it  fares  in  state  and  church, 

Left  his  constituents  in  the  lurch. 


JOEL  BARLOW 
Washington  to  his  Troops 
(From  The  Vision  of  Columbus,  Book  V) 

In  front  great  Washington  exalted  shone, 
His  eye  directed  tow'rd  the  half-seen  sun  ; 
As  through  the  mist  the  bursting  splendors  glow, 
And  light  the  passage  to  the  distant  foe. 

His  waving  steel  returns  the  living  day,  5 

Clears  the  broad  plains,  and  marks  the  warrior's  way; 
The  forming  columns  range  in  order  bright, 
And  move  impatient  for  the  promis'd  fight. 

When  great  Columbus  saw  the  chief  arise, 

And  his  bold  blade  cast  lightning  on  the  skies,  10 

He  trac'd  the  form  that  met  his  view  before, 
On  drear  Ohio's  desolated  shore. 
Matur'd  with  years,  with  nobler  glory  warm, 
Fate  in  his  eye,  and  vengeance  on  his  arm, 

The  great  observer  here  with  joy  beheld  15 

The  hero  moving  in  a  broader  field. 


While  other  chiefs  and  heirs  of  deathless  fame 

Rise  into  sight,  and  equal  honors  claim ; 

But  who  can  tell  the  dew-drops  of  the  morn  ? 

Or  count  the  rays  that  in  the  diamond  burn  ?  20 


62  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

Now,  the  broad  field  as  untry'd  warriors  shade, 
The  sun's  glad  beam  their  shining  ranks  display'd; 
The  glorious  Leader  wav'd  his  glittering  steel, 
Bade  the  long  train  in  circling  order  wheel ; 

25         And,  while  the  banner'd  host  around  him  press'd, 
With  patriot  ardour  thus  the  ranks  address'd :  — 

"  Ye  generous  bands,  behold  the  task  to  save, 
Or  yield  whole  nations  to  an  instant  grave. 
See  headlong  myriads  crowding  to  your  shore, 

30          Hear,  from  all  ports,  their  boasted  thunders  roar ; 

From  Charlestown -heights  their  bloody  standard',  play, 
O'er  far  Champlain  they  lead  their  northern  way, 
Virginian  banks  behold  their  streamers  glide, 
And  hostile  navies  load  each  southern  tide. 

35          Beneath  their  ships  your  towns  in  ashes  lie, 
Your  inland  empires  feast  their  greedy  eye ; 
Soon  shall  your  fields  to  lordly  parks  be  turn'd, 
Your  children  butcher'd,  and  your  villas  burn'd ; 
While  following  millions,  thro'  the  reign  of  time, 

40          Who  claim  their  birth  in  this  indulgent  clime, 
Bend  the  weak  knee,  to  servile  toils  consign'd, 
And  sloth  and  slavery  overwhelm  mankind. 
Rise  then  to  war,  to  noble  vengeance  rise, 
Ere  the  grey  sire,  the  hapless  infant  dies ; 

45         Look  thro'  the  world  where  endless  years  descend, 
What  realms,  what  ages  on  your  arms  depend ! 
Reverse  the  fate,  avenge  th'  insulted  sky ; 
Move  to  the  strife  —  we  conquer  or  we  die." 
So  spoke  the  chief ;  and  with  his  guiding  hand 

50         Points  the  quick  toil  to  each  surrounding  band. 
At  once  the  different  lines  are  wheeled  afar, 
In  different  realms,  to  meet  the  gathering  war. 


THOMAS  GODFREY  63 

THOMAS   GODFREY 
Song 

For  Chloris  long  I  sigh'd  in  vain, 

Nor  could  her  bosom  move, 
She  met  my  vows  with  cold  disdain, 

And  scorn  returned  for  Love. 
At  length,  grown  weary  of  her  pride,  \ 

I  left  the  haughty  Maid, 
Corinna's  fetters  now  I  try'd, 

Who  love  for  love  repaid. 


With  her  the  pleasing  hours  I  waste, 

With  her  such  joys  I  prove,  10 

As  kindred  Souls  alone  can  taste, 

When  join'd  in  mutual  Love. 
Ye  Shepherds  hear,  not  slight  my  strain, 

Fly,  fly  the  scornful  Fair, 
Kind  Nyrnphs  you'll  find  to  ease  your  pain,  15 

And  soften  ev'ry  care. 


When  in  Celia's  Heavenly  Eye 

When  in  Celia's  heavenly  Eye 
Soft  inviting  Love  I  spy, 
Tho'  you  say  'tis  all  a  cheat, 
I  must  clasp  the  dear  deceit. 


Why  should  I  more  knowledge  gain, 
When  it  only  gives  me  pain  V 
If  deceived  I'm  still  at  rest, 
In  the  sweet  delusion  blest. 


64  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

(From  The  Prince  of  Parthia) 

ACT  V,  SCENE  I 

The  Palace 

The  Curtain  rises,  slowly,  to  soft  music,  and  discovers   Evanthe 
sleeping  on  a  Sofa ;  after  the  music  ceases,  Vardanes  enters. 
VARDANES.   Now  shining  Empire  standing  at  the  goal, 

Beck'ns  me  forward  to  increase  my  speed ; 
5  But,  yet,  Arsaces  lives,  bane  to  my  hopes, 

Lysias  I'll  urge  to  ease  me  of  his  life, 

Then  give  the  villain  up  to  punishment. 

The  shew  of  justice  gains  the  changeling  croud. 

Besides,  I  ne'er  will  harbour  in  my  bosom 
10  Such  serpents,  ever  ready  with  their  stings - 

But  now  one  hour  for  love  and  fair  Evanthe  — 

Hence  with  ambition's  cares  —  see,  where  reclin'd, 

In  slumbers  all  her  sorrows  are  dismiss'd, 

Sleep  seems  to  heighten  ev'ry  beauteous  feature, 
15  And  adds  peculiar  softness  to  each  grace. 

She  weeps  —  in  dreams  some  lively  sorrow  pains  her  — 

I'll  take  one  kiss  —  oh  !  what  a  balmy  sweetness! 

Give  me  another  —  and  another  still  — 

For  ever  thus  I'd  dwell  upon  her  lips. 
20  Be  still  my  heart,  and  calm  unruly  transports.  — 

Wake  her,  with  music,  from  this  mimic  death.     [Music  sounds.] 

Song 

Tell  me,  Phillis,  tell  me  why, 

You  appear  so  wond'rous  coy, 
When  that  glow,  and  sparkling  eye, 
25  Speak  you  want  to  taste  the  joy  ? 

Prithee  give  this  fooling  o'er, 
Nor  torment  your  lover  more. 

While  youth  is  warm  within  our  veins, 

And  nature  tempts  us  to  be  gay, 
30  Give  to  pleasure  loose  the  reins, 

Love  and  youth  fly  swift  away. 


THOMAS   GODFREY  65 

Youth  in  pleasure  should  be  spent, 
Age  will  come,  we'll  then  repent. 

EVANTHE  (waking)  I  come  ye  lovely  shades  —  Ha !  am  I  here  ? 
Still  in  the  tyrant's  palace  ?    Ye  bright  pow'rs  !  35 

Are  all  my  blessings  then  but  vis'onary? 
Methought  I  was  arriv'd  on  that  blest  shore 
Where  happy  souls  for  ever  dwell,  crown'd  with 
Immortal  bliss;  Arsaces  led  me  through 

The  flow'ry  groves,  while  all  around  me  gleam'd  40 

Thousand  and  thousand  shades,  who  welcom'd  me 
With  pleasing  songs  of  joy —  Vardanes,  ha!  — 

VARDANES.     Why  beams  the  angry  lightning  of  thine  eye 
'Against  thy  sighing  slave ?    Is  love  a  crime ? 

Oh !  if  to  dote,  with  such  excess  of  passiou  45 

As  rises  e'en  to  mad  extravagance 
Is  criminal,  I  then  am  so,  indeed. 

EVANTHE.     Away !  vile  man  !  — 

VARDANES.  If  to  pursue  thee  e'er 

With  all  the  humblest  offices  of  love,  50 

If  ne'er  to  know  one  single  thought  that  does 
Not  bear  thy  bright  idea,  merits  scorn  — 

EVANTHE.     Hence  from  my  sight  —  nor  let  me,  thus,  pollute 
Mine  eyes,  with  looking  on  a  wretch  like  thee, 

Thou  cause  of  all  my  ills ;  I  sicken  at  55 

Thy  loathsome  presence  — 

VARDANES.  'Tis  not  always  thus, 

Nor  dost  thou  ever  meet  the  sounds  of  love 
With  rage  and  fierce  disdain :  Arsaces,  soon, 
Could  smooth  thy  brow,  and  melt  thy  icy  breast.  60 

EVANTHE.     Ha !  does  it  gall  thee  ?    Yes,  he  could,  he  could ; 
Oh !  when  he  speaks,  such  sweetness  dwells  upon 
His  accents,  all  my  soul  dissolves  to  love, 
And  warm  desire ;  such  truth  and  beauty  join'd ! 
His  looks  are  soft  and  kind,  such  gentleness  65 

Such  virtue  swells  his  bosom !  in  his  eye 
Sits  majesty,  commanding  ev'ry  heart. 
Strait  as  the  pine,  the  pride  of  all  the  grove, 


66  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

More  blooming  than  the  spring,  and  sweeter  far, 
70  Than  asphodels  or  roses  infant  sweets. 

Oh !  I  could  dwell  forever  on  his  praise, 

Yet  think  eternity  was  scarce  enough 

To  tell  the  mighty  theme ;  here  in  rny  breast 

His  image  dwells,  but  one  dear  thought  of  him, 
75  When  fancy  paints  his  Person  to  my  eye, 

As  he  was  wont  in  tenderness  dissolv'd, 

Sighing  his  vows,  or  kneeling  at  my  feet, 

Wipes  off  all  mem'ry  of  my  wretchedness. 

VARDANES.     I  know  this  brav'ry  is  affected,  yet 
80  It  gives  me  joy,  to  think  my  rival  only 

Can  in  imagination  taste  thy  beauties. 

Let  him,  —  'twill  ease  him  in  his  solitude, 

And  gild  the  horrors  of  his  prison-house, 

Till  death  shall  — 
85     EVANTHE.  Ha!  what  was  that?  till  death  —  ye  Godsl 

Ah,  now  I  feel  distress's  tort'ring  pang  — 

Thou  canst  not  villain  —  darst  not  think  his  death  — 

O  mis'ry !  — 

VARDANES.     Naught  but  your  kindness  saves  him, 
90  Yet  bless  me  with  your  love,  and  he  is  safe ; 

But  the  same  frown  which  kills  my  growing  hopes, 

Gives  him  to  death. 


CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN 

A  Mysterious  Voice 
(From  Wieland,  Chap.  IX) 

I  returned  to  the  closet,  and  once  more  put  my  hand  upon 
the  lock.  Oh,  may  my  ears  lose  their  sensibility  ere  they 
be  again  assailed  by  a  shriek  so  terrible  !  Not  merely  my 
understanding  was  subdued  by  the  sound ;  it  acted  on  my 
5  nerves  like  an  edge  of  steel.  It  appeared  to  cut  asunder 
the  fibres  of  my  brain  and  rack  every  joint  with  agony. 


CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN       67 

The  cry,  loud  and  piercing  as  it  was,  was  nevertheless 
human.      No  articulation   was    ever   more   distinct.      The 
breath  which  accompanied  it  did  not  fan  my  hair,  yet  did 
every  circumstance  combine  to  persuade  me  that  the  lips  10 
which  uttered  it  touched  my  very  shoulder. 

"  Hold  !  hold  ! "  were  the  words  of  this  tremendous  pro 
hibition,  in  whose  tone  the  whole  soul  seemed  to  be  wrapped 
up,  and  every  energy  converted  into  eagerness  and  terror. 

Shuddering,  I  dashed  myself  against  the  wall,  and,  by  15 
the  same  involuntary  impulse,  turned  my  face  backward  to 
examine  the  mysterious  monitor.     The  moonlight  streamed 
into  each  window,  and  every  corner  of  the  room  was  con 
spicuous,  and  yet  I  beheld  nothing ! 

The  interval  was  too  brief  to  be  artificially  measured,  be- 20 
tween  the  utterance  of  these  words  and  my  scrutiny  directed 
to  the  quarter  whence  they  came.     Yet,  if  a  human  being 
had  been  there,  could  he  fail  to  have  been  visible  ?     Which 
of  my  senses  was  the  prey  of  a  fatal  illusion  ?     The  shock 
which  the  sound  produced  was  still  felt  in  every  part  of  my  25 
frame.     The  sound,  therefore,  could  not  but  be  a  genuine 
commotion.     But  that  I  had  heard  it  was  not  more  true 
than  that  the  being  who  uttered  it  was  stationed  at  my 
right  ear ;  yet  my  attendant  was  invisible. 

I  cannot  describe  the  state  of  my  thoughts  at  that  so 
moment.  Surprise  had  mastered  my  faculties.  My  frame 
shook,  and  the  vital  current  was  congealed.  I  was  conscious 
only  to  the  vehemence  of  my  sensations.  This  condition 
could  not  be  lasting.  Like  a  tide,  which  suddenly  mounts  to 
an  overwhelming  height  and  then  gradually  subsides,  my  35 
confusion  slowly  gave  place  to  order,  and  my  tumults  to  a 
calm.  I  was  able  to  deliberate  and  move.  I  resumed  my 
feet,  and  advanced  into  the  midst  of  the  room.  Upward, 
and  behind,  and  on  each  side,  I  threw  penetrating  glances. 
I  was  not  satisfied  with  one  examination.  He  that  hitherto  40 


68  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

refused  to  be  seen  might  change  his  purpose,  and  on  the 
next  survey  be  clearly  distinguishable. 

Solitude  imposes  least  restraint  upon  the  fancy.     Dark  is 
less  fertile  of  images  than  the  feeble  lustre  of  the  moon.     I 

45  was  alone,  and  the  walls  were  checkered  by  shadowy  forms. 
As  the  moon  passed  behind  a  cloud  and  emerged,  these 
shadows  seemed  to  be  endowed  with  life,  and  to  move. 
The  apartment  was  open  to  the  breeze,  and  the  curtain  was 
occasionally  blown  from  its  ordinary  position.  This  motion 

50  was  not  unaccompanied  with  sound.  I  failed  not  to  snatch 
a  look  and  to  listen  when  this  motion  and  this  sound 
occurred.  My  belief  that  my  monitor  was  posted  near  was 
strong,  and  instantly  converted  these  appearances  to  tokens 
of  his  presence ;  and  yet  I  could  discern  nothing. 


PHILIP  FRENEAU 
A  Political  Litany 

Libera  nos,  Domine  —  Deliver  us,  O  Lord, 
Not  only  from  British  dependence,  but  also, 

From  a  junto  that  labor  for  absolute  power, 
Whose  schemes  disappointed  have  made  them  look  sour ; 
5         From  the  lords  of  the  council,  who  fight  against  freedom 
Who  still  follow  on  where  delusion  shall  lead  'em. 

From  groups  at  Saint  James's  who  slight  our  Petitions, 
And  fools  that  are  waiting  for  further  submissions ; 
From  a  nation  whose  manners  are  rough  and  abrupt, 
10         Fro-m  scoundrels  and  rascals  whom  gold  can  corrupt. 

From  pirates  sent  out  by  command  of  the  king 
To  murder  and  plunder, but  never  to  swing; 
From  Wallace,  and  Graves,  and  Vipors,  and  Roses, 
Whom,  if  Heaven  pleases,  we'll  give  bloody  noses. 


PHILIP  FRENEAU  69 

From  the  valiant  Dunmore,  with  his  crew  of  banditti  15 

Who  plunder  Virginians  at  Williamsburg  city, 
From  hot-headed  Montague,  mighty  to  swear, 
The  little  fat  man  with  his  pretty  white  hair. 

From  bishops  in  Britain,  who  butchers  are  grown, 
From  slaves  that  would  die  for  a  smile  from  the  throne,  20 

From  assemblies  that  vote  against  Congress'  proceedings 
(Who  now  see  the  fruit  of  their  stupid  misleadings) . 

From  Tryon,  the  mighty,  who  flies  from  our  city, 

And  swelled  with  importance,  disdains  the  committee 

(But  since  he  is  pleased  to  proclaim  us  his  foes,  25 

What  the  devil  care  we  where  the  devil  he  goes). 

From  the  caitiff,  Lord  North,  who  would  bind  us  in  chains, 

From  our  noble  King  Log,  with  his  toothful  of  brains, 

Who  dreams,  and  is  certain  (when  taking  a  nap), 

He  has  conquered  our  lands  as  they  lay  on  his  map.  30 

From  a  kingdom  that  bullies,  and  hectors,  and  swears, 
I  send  up  to  Heaven  my  wishes  and  prayers 
That  we,  disunited,  may  freemen  be  still, 
And  Britain  go  on  — to  be  damn'd  if  she  will. 

Eutaw  Springs 

At  Eutaw  Springs  the  valiant  died ; 

Their  limbs  with  dust  are  covered  o'er  — 
Weep  on,  ye  springs,  your  tearful  tide ; 

How  many  heroes  are  no  more  1 

If  in  this  wreck  of  ruin,  they  5 

Can  yet  be  thought  to  claim  a  tear, 
O  smite  your  gentle  breast,  and  say 

The  friends  of  freedom  slumber  here ! 

Thou,  who  shalt  trace  this  bloody  plain, 

If  goodness  rules  thy  generous  breast,  10 

Sigh  for  the  wasted  rural  reign ; 

Sigh  for  the  shepherds,  sunk  to  rest ! 


70  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Stranger,  their  humble  graves  adorn ; 

You  too  may  fall,  and  ask  a  tear ; 
15  'Tis  not  the  beauty  of  the  morn 

That  proves  the  evening  shall  be  clear.  — 

They  saw  their  injured  country's  woe  ; 
The  flaming  town,  the  wasted  field  ; 
Then  rushed  to  meet  the  insulting  foe  ; 
20  They  took  the  spear  — but  left  the  shield. 

Led  by  thy  conquering  genius,  Greene, 
The  Britons  they  compelled  to  fly ; 

None  distant  viewed  the  fatal  plain, 
None  grieved,  in  such  a  cause  to  die  — 

25  But,  like  the  Parthian,  famed  of  old, 

Who,  flying,  still  their  arrows  threw, 
These  routed  Britons,  full  as  bold, 
Retreated,  and  retreating  slew. 

Now  rest  in  peace,  our  patriot  band  ; 
30  Though  far  from  nature's  limits  thrown, 

We  trust  they  find  a  happier  land, 
A  brighter  sunshine  of  their  own. 

The  Wild  Honey  Suckle 

Fair  flower,  that  dost  so  comely  grow, 
Hid  in  this  silent,  dull  retreat, 
Untouched  thy  honied  blossoms  blow, 
Unseen  thy  little  branches  greet  : 
5  No  roving  foot  shall  crush  thee  here, 

No  busy  hand  provoke  a  tear. 

By  Nature's  self  in  white  arrayed, 
She  bade  thee  shun  the  vulgar  eye, 
And  planted  here  the  guardian  shade, 
10  And  sent  soft  waters  murmuring  by; 

Thus  quietly  thy  summer  goes, 
Thy  days  declining  to  repose. 


PHILIP  FRENEAU  71 

Smit  with  those  charms,  that  must  decay, 

I  grieve  to  see  your  future  doom  ; 

They  died  —  nor  were  those  flowers  more  gay,  15 

The  flowers  that  did  in  Eden  bloom  ; 

Unpitying  frosts,  and  Autumn's  power 

Shall  leave  no  vestige  of  this  flower. 

From  morning  suns  and  evening  dews 

At  first  thy  little  being  came  :  20 

If  nothing  once,  you  nothing  lose, 

For  when  you  die  you  are  the  same  ; 

The  space  between  is  but  an  hour, 

The  frail  duration  of  a  flower. 


The  Death  Song  of  a  Cherokee  Indian 

The  sun  sets  in  night,  and  the  stars  shun  the  day, 
But  glory  remains  when  their  lights  fade  away. 
Begin,  ye  tormentors  :  your  threats  are  in  vain 
For  the  son  of  Alknomock  can  never  complain. 

Remember  the  woods,  where  in  ambush  he  lay,  5 

And  the  scalps  which  he  bore  from  your  nation  away ! 
Why  do  ye  delay  ?  —  'till  I  shrink  from  my  pain  V 
Know  the  son  of  Alknomock  can  never  complain. 

Remember  the  arrows  he  shot  from  his  bow, 

Remember  your  chiefs  by  his  hatchet  laid  low,  10 

The  flame  rises  high,  you  exult  in  my  pain  ? 

Know  the  son  of  Alknomock  will  never  complain. 

I  go  to  the  land  where  my  father  is  gone  : 

His  ghost  shall  rejoice  in  the  fame  of  his  son, 

Death  comes  like  a  friend,  he  relieves  me  from  pain,  15 

And  thy  son,  O  Alknomock,  has  scorned  to  complain. 


72  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

May  to  April 

Without  your  showers,  I  breed  no  flowers, 
Each  field  a  barren  waste  appears ; 

If  you  don't  weep,  my  blossoms  sleep, 
They  take  such  pleasures  in  your  tears. 

5  As  your  decay  made  room  for  May, 

So  I  must  part  with  all  that's  mine : 
My  balmy  breeze,  my  blooming  trees 
To  torrid  suns  their  sweets  resign  ! 

O'er  April  dead,  my  shades  I  spread : 
10     '  To  her  I  owe  my  dress  so  gay  — 

Of  daughters  three,  it  falls  on  me 
To  close  our  triumphs  on  one  day ; 

Thus  to  repose,  all  Nature  goes ; 

Month  after  month  must  find  its  doom: 
15  Time  on  the  wing,  May  ends  the  Spring, 

And  Summer  dances  on  her  tomb ! 


WASHINGTON   IRVING 

The  Character  of  Peter  Stuyvesant 
(From  Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York,  Book  V,  Chap.  I) 

Peter  Stuyvesant  was  the  last,  and,  like  the  renowned 
Wouter  Van  Twiller,  the  best,  of  our  ancient  Dutch  governors. 
Wouter  having  surpassed  all  who  preceded  him,  and  Peter, 
or  Piet,  as  he  was  sociably  called  by  the  old  Dutch  burghers, 

5  who  were  ever  proud  to  familiarize  names,  having  never 
been  equaled  by  any  successor.  He  was  in  fact  the  man 
fitted  by  nature  to  retrieve  the  desperate  fortunes  of  her 
beloved  province,  had  not  the  fates,  those  most  potent  and 
unrelenting  of  all  ancient  spinsters,  destined  them  to 

10  inextricable  confusion. 


WASHINGTON   IRVING  73 

To  say  merely  that  he  was  a  hero,  would  be  doing  him 
great  injustice:  he  was  in  truth  a  combination  of  heroes; 
for  he  was  of  a  sturdy,  raw-boned  make,  like  Ajax  Telamon, 
with  a  pair  of  round  shoulders  that  Hercules  would  have 
given  his  hide  for  (meaning  his  lion's^Jhide)  when  he  15 
undertook  to  ease  old  Atlas  of  his  load.  He  was,  more 
over,  as  Plutarch  describes  Coriolanus,  not  only  terrible  for 
the  force  of  his  arm,  but  likewise  of  his  voice,  which 
sounded  as  though  it  came  out  of  a  barrel ;  and,  like  the  self 
same  warrior,  he  possessed  a  sovereign  contempt  for  the  20 
sovereign  people,  and  an  iron  aspect,  which  was  enough  of 
itself  to  make  the  very  bowels  of  his  adversaries  quake 
with  terror  and  dismay.  All  this  martial  excellency  of 
appearance  was  inexpressibly  heightened  by  an  accidental 
advantage,  with  which  I  am  surprised  that  neither  Homer  25 
nor  Virgil  have  graced  any  of  their  heroes.  This  was 
nothing  less  than  a  wooden  leg,  which  was  the  only  prize  he 
had  gained  in  bravely  fighting  the  battles  of  his  country, 
but  of  which  he  was  so  proud,  that  he  was  often  heard  to 
declare  he  valued  it  more  than  all  his  other  limbs  put  30 
together ;  indeed,  so  highly  did  he  esteem  it,  that  he  had  it 
gallantly  enchased  and  relieved  with  silver  devices,  which 
caused  it  to  be  related  in  divers  histories  and  legends  that 
he  wore  a  silver  leg.1 

Like  that  choleric  warrior  Achilles,  he  was  somewhat  35 
subject  to  extempore  bursts  of  passion,  which  were  rather 
unpleasant  to  his  favorites  and  attendants,  whose  percep 
tions  he  was  apt  to  quicken,  after  the  manner  of  his  illus 
trious  imitator,  Peter  the  Great,  by  anointing  their  shoulders 
with  his  walking-staff.  40 

Though  I  cannot  find  that  he  had  read  Plato,  or  Aristotle, 
or  Hobbes,  or  Bacon,  or  Algernon  Sydney,  or  Tom  Paine, 

1  See  the  histories  of  Masters  Josselyn  and  Blome.     (Irving's  note.) 


74  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

yet  did  he  sometimes  manifest  a  shrewdness  and  sagacity 
in  his  measures,  that  one  would  hardly  expect  from  a  man 

45  who  did  not  know  Greek,  and  had  never  studied  the  an 
cients.  True  it  is,  and  I  confess  it  with  sorrow,  that  he 
had  an  unreasonable  aversion  to  experiments,  and  was  fond 
of  governing  his  province  after  the  simplest  manner;  but 
then  he  contrived  to  keep  it  in  better  order  than  did  the 

50  erudite  Kieft,  though  he  had  all  the  philosophers,  ancient 
and  modern,  to  assist  and  perplex  him.  I  must  likewise 
own  that  he  made  but  very  few  laws ;  but  then,  again,  he 
took  care  that  those  few  were  rigidly  and  impartially  en 
forced;  and  I  do  not  know  but  justice,  on  the  whole,  was 

55  as  well  administered  as  if  there  had  been  volumes  of  sage 
acts  and  statutes  yearly  made,  and  daily  neglected  and  for 
gotten. 

He  was,  in  fact,  the  very  reverse  of  his  predecessors,  be 
ing  neither  tranquil  and  inert,  like  Walter  the  Doubter,  nor 

60  restless  and  fidgeting,  like  William  the  Testy,  —  but  a  man, 
or  rather  a  governor,  of  such  uncommon  activity  and  de 
cision  of  mind,  that  he  never  sought  or  accepted  the  advice 
of  others,  —  depending  bravely  upon  his  single  head,  as 
would  a  hero  of  yore  upon  his  single  arm,  to  carry  him 

65  through  all  difficulties  and  dangers.  To  tell  the  simple 
truth,  he  wanted  nothing  to  complete  him  as  a  statesman 
than  to  think  always  right ;  for  no  one  can  say  but  that  he 
always  acted  as  he  thought.  He  was  never  a  man  to  flinch 
when  he  found  himself  in  a  scrape,  but  to  dash  forward 

70  through  thick  and  thin,  trusting,  by  hook  or  by  crook,  to 
make  all  things  straight  in  the  end.  In  a  word,  he  pos 
sessed,  in  an  eminent  degree,  that  great  quality  in  a  states 
man,  called  perseverance  by  the  polite,  but  nicknamed 
obstinancy  by  the  vulgar,  —  a  wonderful  salve  for  official 

75  blunders,  since  he  who  perseveres  in  error  without  flinch 
ing  gets  the  credit  of  boldness  and  consistency,  while  he 


WASHINGTON    IRVING  75 

who  wavers  in  seeking  to  do  what  is  right  gets  stigmatized 
as  a  trimmer.  This  much  is  certain ;  and  it  is  a  maxim 
well  worthy  the  attention  of  all  legislators,  great  and  small, 
who  stand  shaking  in  the  wind,  irresolute  which  way  to  80 
steer,  that  a  ruler  who  follows  his  .own  will  pleases  himself, 
while  he  who  seeks  to  satisfy  the  wishes  and  whims  of 
others  runs  great  risk  of  pleasing  nobody.  There  is  noth 
ing,  too,  like  putting  down  one's  foot  resolutely  when  in 
doubt,  and  letting  things  take  their  course.  The  clock  that  85 
stands  still  points  right  twice  in  the  four-and-twenty  hours, 
while  others  may  keep  going  continually  and  be  continually 
going  wrong. 

Nor  did  this  magnanimous  quality  escape  the  discern 
ment  of  the  good  people  of  Meuw  Nederlands ;  on  the  con-  90 
trary,  so  much  were  they  struck  with  the  independent  will 
and  vigorous  resolution  displayed  on  all  occasions  by  their 
new  governor,  that  they  universally  called  him  Hard-Koppig 
Piet,  or  Peter  the  Headstrong,  —  a  great  compliment  to  the 
strength  of  his  understanding.  95 

If,  from  all  that  I  have  said,  thou  dost  not  gather,  worthy 
reader,  that  Peter  Stuyvesant  was  a  tough,  sturdy,  valiant, 
weather-beaten,  mettlesome,  obstinate,  leathern-sided,  lion- 
hearted,  generous-spirited  old  governor,  either  I  have  written 
to  but  little  purpose,  or  thou  art  very  dull  at  drawing  con- 100 
elusions. 

The  Devil  and  Tom  Walker 
(From  Tales  of  a  Traveler) 

A  few  miles  from  Boston  in  Massachusetts,  there  is  a 
deep  inlet,  winding  several  miles  into  the  interior  of  the 
country  from  Charles  Bay,  and  terminating  in  a  thickly 
wooded  swamp  or  morass.  On  one  side  of  this  inlet  is  a 
beautiful  dark  grove  ;  on  the  opposite  side  the  land  rises  5 


76  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

abruptly  from  the  water's  edge  into  a  high  ridge,  on  which 
grow  a  few  scattered  oaks  of  great  age  and  immense  size. 
Under  one  of  these  gigantic  trees,  according  to  old  stories, 
there  was  a  great  amount  of  treasure  buried  by  Kidd  the 

10  pirate.  The  inlet  allowed  a  facility  to  bring  the  money  in 
a  boat  secretly  and  at  night  to  the  very  foot  of  the  hill ; 
the  elevation  of  the  place  permitted  a  good  look-out  to  be 
kept  that  no  one  was  at  hand ;  while  the  remarkable  trees 
formed  good  landmarks  by  which  the  place  might  easily  be 

15  found  again.  The  old  stories  add,  moreover,  that  the  devil 
presided  at  the  hiding  of  the  money,  and  took  it  under  his 
guardianship ;  but  this,  it  is  well  known,  he  always  does 
with  buried  treasure,  particularly  when  it  has  been  ill- 
gotten.  Be  that  as  it  may,  Kidd  never  returned  to  recover 

20  his  wealth ;  being  shortly  after  seized  at  Boston,  sent  out 
to  England,  and  there  hanged  for  a  pirate. 

About  the  year  1727,  just  at  the  time  that  earthquakes 
were  prevalent  in  New  England,  and  shook  many  tall 
sinners  down  upon  their  knees,  there  lived  near  this  place  a 

25  meagre,  miserly  fellow,  of  the  name  of  Tom  Walker.  He 
had  a  wife  as  miserly  as  himself :  they  were  so  miserly  that 
they  even  conspired  to  cheat  each  other.  Whatever  the 
woman  could  lay  hands  on,  she  hid  away ;  a  hen  could  not 
cackle  but  she  was  on  the  alert  to  secure  the  new-laid  egg. 

30  Her  husband  was  continually  prying  about  to  detect  her 
secret  hoards,  and  many  and  fierce  were  the  conflicts  that 
took  place  about  what  ought  to  have  been  common  property. 
They  lived  in  a  forlorn-looking  house  that  stood  alone,  and 
had  an  air  of  starvation.  A  few  straggling  savin  trees, 

35 emblems  of  sterility,  grew  near  it;  no  smoke  ever  curled 
from  its  chimney ;  no  travelers  stopped  at  its  door.  A 
miserable  horse,  whose  ribs  were  as  articulate  as  the  bars 
of  a  gridiron,  stalked  about  a  field,  where  a  thin  carpet  of 
moss,  scarcely  covering  the  ragged  beds  of  puddingstone, 


WASHINGTON   IRVING  77 

tantalized  and  balked  his  hunger ;  and  sometimes  he  would  40 
lean  his  head  over  the  fence,  look  piteously  at  the  passerby, 
and  seem  to  petition  deliverance  from  this  land  of  famine. 

The  house  and  its  inmates  had  altogether  a  bad  name. 
Tom's  wife  was  a  tall  termagant,  fierce  of  temper,  loud  of 
tongue,  and  strong  of  arm.     Her  voice  was  often  heard  in  45 
wordy  warfare  with  her  husband ;  and  his  face  sometimes 
showed  signs  that  their  conflicts  were  not  confined  to  words. 
No  one  ventured,  however,  to  interfere  between  them.     The 
lonely  wayfarer  shrunk  within  himself  at  the  horrid  clamor 
and  clapper-clawing ;  eyed  the  den  of  discord  askance ;  and  50 
hurried  on  his  way,  rejoicing,  if  a  bachelor,  in  his  celibacy. 

One  day  that  Tom  Walker  had  been  to  a  distant  part  of 
the  neighborhood,  he  took  what  he  considered  a  short  cut 
homeward,  through  the  swamp.  Like  most  short  cuts,  it 
was  an  ill-chosen  route.  The  swamp  was  thickly  grown  55 
with  great  gloomy  pines  and  hemlocks,  some  of  them  ninety 
feet  high,  which  made  it  dark  at  noonday,  and  a  retreat  for 
all  the  owls  of  the  neighborhood.  It  was  full  of  pits  and 
quagmires,  partly  covered  with  weeds  and  mosses,  where 
the  green  surface  often  betrayed  the  traveler  into  a  gulf  of  60 
black,  smothering  mud :  there  were  also  dark  and  stagnant 
pools,  the  abode  of  the  tadpole,  the  bull-frog,  and  the  water- 
snake  ;  where  the  trunks  of  pines  and  hemlocks  lay  half- 
drowned,  half-rotting,  looking  like  alligators  sleeping  in  the 
mire.  65 

Tom  had  long  been  picking  his  way  cautiously  through 
this  treacherous  forest ;  stepping  from  tuft  to  tuft  of  rushes 
and  roots,  which  afforded  precarious  footholds  among  deep 
sloughs ;  or  pacing  carefully,  like  a  cat,  along  the  prostrate 
trunks  of  trees ;  startled  now  and  then  by  the  sudden  70 
screaming  of  the  bittern,  or  the  quacking  of  a  wild  duck 
rising  on  the  wing  from  some  solitary  pool.  At  length  he 
arrived  at  a  piece  of  firm  ground,  which  ran  out  like  a  penin- 


78  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

sula  into  the  deep  bosom  of  the  swamp.     It  had  been  one 

75  of  the  strongholds  of  the  Indians  during  their  wars  with  the 
first  colonists.  Here  they  had  thrown  up  a  kind  of  fort, 
which  they  had  looked  upon  as  almost  impregnable,  and 
had  used  as  a  place  of  refuge  for  their  squaws  and  children. 
Nothing  remained  of  the  old  Indian  fort  but  a  few  embank- 

80ments,  gradually  sinking  to  the  level  of  the  surrounding 
earth,  and  already  overgrown  in  part  by  oaks  and  other 
forest  trees,  the  foliage  of  which  formed  a  contrast  to  the 
dark  pines  and  hemlocks  of  the  swamp. 

It  was  late  in  the  dusk  of  evening  when  Tom  Walker 

85  reached  the  old  fort,  and  he  paused  there  awhile  to  rest 
himself.  Any  one  but  he  would  have  felt  unwilling  to 
linger  in  this  lonely,  melancholy  place,  for  the  common 
people  had  a  bad  opinion  of  it,  from  the  stories  handed 
down  from  the  time  of  the  Indian  wars ;  when  it  was  as- 

90serted  that  the  savages  held  incantations  here,  and  made 
sacrifices  to  the  evil  spirit. 

Torn  Walker,  however,  was  not  a  man  to  be  troubled 
with  any  fears  of  the  kind.  He  reposed  himself  for  some 
time  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  hemlock,  listening  to  the  bod- 

95  ing  cry  of  the  tree-toad,  and  delving  with  his  walking-staff 
into  a  mound  of  black  mould  at  his  feet.  As  he  turned  up 
the  soil  unconsciously,  his  staff  struck  against  something 
hard.  He  raked  it  out  of  the  vegetable  mould,  and  lo !  a 
cloven  skull,  with  an  Indian  tomahawk  buried  deep  in  it, 
100  lay  before  him.  The  rust  on  the  weapon  showed  the  time 
that  had  elapsed  since  this  death-blow  had  been  given.  It 
was  a  dreary  memento  of  the  fierce  struggle  that  had  taken 
place  in  this  last  foothold  of  the  Indian  warriors. 

"  Humph ! "  said  Tom  Walker,  as  he  gave  it  a  kick  to 
105  shake  the  dirt  from  it. 

"Let  that  skull  alone !"  said  a  gruff  voice.  Tom  lifted 
up  his  eyes,  and  beheld  a  great  black  man  seated  directly 


WASHINGTON  IRVING  79 

opposite  him,  on  the  stump  of  a  tree.  He  was  exceedingly 
surprised,  having  neither  heard  nor  seen  any  one  approach ; 
and  he  was  still  more  perplexed  on  observing,  as  well  as  the  no 
gathering  gloom  would  permit,  that  the  stranger  was  neither 
negro  nor  Indian.  It  is  true  he  was  dressed  in  a  rude  half 
Indian  garb,  and  had  a  red  belt  or  sash  swathed  round  his 
body ;  but  his  face  was  neither  black  nor  copper-color,  but 
swarthy  and  dingy,  and  begrimed  with  soot,  as  if  he  had  115 
been  accustomed  to  toil  among  fires  and  forges.  He  had  a 
shock  of  coarse  black  hair,  that  stood  out  from  his  head  in 
all  directions,  and  bore  an  axe  on  his  shoulder. 

He  scowled  for  a  moment  at  Tom  with  a  pair  of  great 
red  eyes.  120 

"  What  are  you  doing  on  my  grounds  ?  "   said  the  black 
man,  with  a  hoarse  growling  voice. 

"  Your  grounds  ! "  said  Tom  with  a  sneer ;  "  no  more  your 
grounds  than  mine  ;  they  belong  to  Deacon  Peabody." 

"  Deacon  Peabody  be  d — d,"  said  the  stranger,  "  as  I  flat- 125 
ter  myself  he  will  be,  if  he  does  not  look  more  to  his  own 
sins  and  less  to  those  of  his  neighbors.     Look  yonder,  and 
see  how  Deacon  Peabody  is  faring.' ' 

Tom  looked  in  the  direction  that  the  stranger  pointed,  and 
beheld  one  of  the  great  trees,  fair  and  flourishing  without,  but  130 
rotten  at  the  core,  and  saw  that  it  had  been  nearly  hewn 
through,  so  that  the  first  high  wind  was  likely  to  blow  it 
down.     On  the  bark  of  the  tree  was  scored  the  name  of 
Deacon  Peabody,  an  eminent  man,  who  had  waxed  wealthy 
by  driving  shrewd  bargains  with  the  Indians.    He  now  looked  135 
around,  and  found  most  of  the  tall  trees  marked  with  the 
name  of  some  great  man  of  the  colony,  and  all  more  or  less 
scored  by  the  axe.     The  one  on  which  he  had  been  seated, 
and  which  had  evidently  just  been  hewn  down,  bore  the 
name  of  Crowninshield ;  and  he  recollected  a  mighty  rich  140 
man  of  that  name,  who  made  a  vulgar  display  of  wealth, 


80  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

which  it  was  whispered  he   had   acquired   by   buccaneer 
ing. 

"  He's  just  ready  for  burning ! "  said  the  black  man,  with 
145  a  growl  of  triumph.     "  You  see  I  am  likely  to  have  a  good 
stock  of  firewood  for  winter." 

"But  what  right  have  you,"  said  Tom,  "to  cut  down 
Deacon  Peabody's  timber  ?  " 

"  The  right  of  a  prior  claim,"  said  the  other.     "  This  wood- 
150  land  belonged  to  me  long  before  one  of  your  whitefaced  race 
put  foot  upon  the  soil." 

"  And  pray,  who  are  you,  if  I  may  be  so  bold  ?  "  said  Tom. 

"  Oh,  I  go  by  various  names.     I  am  the  wild  huntsman  in 

some  countries ;  the  black  miner  in  others.     In  this  neigh- 

155  borhood  I  am  known  by  the  name  of  the  black  woodsman. 

I  am  he  to  whom  the  red  men  consecrated  this  spot,  and  in 

honor  of  whom  they  now  and  then  roasted  a  white  man,  by 

way  of  sweet-smelling  sacrifice.     Since  the  red  men  have 

been  exterminated  by  you  white  savages,  I  amuse  myself  by 

160  presiding  at  the  persecutions  of  Quakers  and  Anabaptists ; 

I  am  the  great  patron  and  promoter  of  slave-dealers,  and  the 

grand-master  of  the  Salem  witches." 

"  The  upshot  of  all  which  is,  if  I  mistake  not,"  said  Tom, 
sturdily,  "you  are  he  commonly  called  Old  Scratch." 
165     "  The  same,  at  your  service  !  "  replied  the  black  man,  with 
a  half  civil  nod. 

Such  was  the  opening  of  this  interview,  according  to  the 
old  story ;  though  it  has  almost  too  familiar  an  air  to  be  cred 
ited.  One  would  think  that  to  meet  with  such  a  singular 
170  personage,  in  this  wild,  lonely  place,  would  have  shaken  any 
man's  nerves  ;  but  Tom  was  a  hard-minded  fellow,  not  easily 
daunted,  and  he  had  lived  so  long  with  a  termagant  wife  that 
he  did  not  even  fear  the  devil. 

It  is  said  that  after  this  commencement  they  had  a  long 
175  and  earnest  conversation  together,  as  Tom  returned  home- 


WASHINGTON   IRVING  81 

ward.  The  black  man  told  him  of  great  sums  of  money 
buried  by  Kidd  the  pirate,  under  the  oak-trees  on  the  high 
ridge,  not  far  from  the  morass.  All  these  were  under  his 
command,  and  protected  by  his  power,  so  that  none  could 
find  them  but  such  as  propitiated  his  favor.  These  he  180 
offered  to  place  within  Tom  Walker's  reach,  having  con 
ceived  an  especial  kindness  for  him ;  but  they  were  to  be 
had  only  on  certain  conditions.  What  these  conditions  were 
may  be  easily  surmised,  though  Tom  never  disclosed  them 
publicly.  They  must  have  been  very  hard,  for  he  required  185 
time  to  think  of  them,  and  he  was  not  a  man  to  stick  at 
trifles  when  money  was  in  view.  When  they  had  reached 
the  edge  of  the  swamp,  the  stranger  paused  —  "What  proof 
have  I  that  all  you  have  been  telling  me  is  true  ?  "  said  Tom. 
"  There's  my  signature,"  said  the  black  man,  pressing  his  190 
finger  on  Tom's  forehead.  So  saying,  he  turned  off  among 
the  thickets  of  the  swamp,  and  seemed,  as  Tom  said,  to  go 
down,  down,  down,  into  the  earth,  until  nothing  but  his 
head  and  shoulders  could  be  seen,  and  so  on,  until  he  totally 
disappeared.  195 

When  Torn  reached  home  he  found  the  black  print  of  a 
finger  burnt,  as  it  were,  into  his  forehead,  which  nothing 
could  obliterate. 

The  first  news  his  wife  had  to  tell  him  was  the  sudden 
death  of  Absalom  Crowninshield,  the  rich  buccaneer.     It  200 
was  announced  in  the  papers  with  the  usual  flourish,  that 
"  A  great  man  had  fallen  in  Israel." 

Tom  recollected  the  tree  which  his  black  friend  had  just 
hewn  down,  and  which  was  ready  for  burning.     "  Let  the 
freebooter  roast,"  said  Tom,  "  who  cares  ?  "     He  now  felt  205 
convinced  that  all  he  had  heard  and  seen  was  no  illusion. 

He  was  not  prone  to  let  his  wife  into  his  confidence ;  but 
as  this  was  an  uneasy  secret,  he  willingly  shared  it  with 
her.  All  her  avarice  was  awakened  at  the  mention  of  hid- 


82  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

210  den  gold,  and  she  urged  her  husband  to  comply  with  the 
black  man's  terms,  and  secure  what  would  make  them 
wealthy  for  life.  However  Tom  might  have  felt  disposed 
to  sell  himself  to  the  Devil,  he  was  determined  not  to  do  so 
to  oblige  his  wife ;  so  he  flatly  refused,  out  of  the  mere 

215  spirit  of  contradiction.  Many  and  bitter  were  the  quarrels 
they  had  on  the  subject ;  but  the  more  she  talked,  the  more 
resolute  was  Tom  not  to  be  damned  to  please  her. 

At  length  she  determined  to  drive  the  bargain  on  her  own 
account,  and  if  she  succeeded,  to  keep  all  the  gain  to  herself. 

220  Being  of  the  same  fearless  temper  as  her  hushand,  she  set 
off  for  the  old  Indian  fort  towards  the  close  of  a  summer's 
day.  She  was  many  hours  absent.  When  she  came  back, 
she  was  reserved  and  sullen  in  her  replies.  She  spoke 
something  of  a  black  man,  whom  she  had  met  about  twilight, 

225  hewing  at  the  root  of  a  tall  tree.  He  was  sulky,  however, 
and  would  not  come  to  terms :  she  was  to  go  again  with  a 
propitiatory  offering,  but  what  it  was  she  forebore  to  say. 

The  next  evening  she  set  off  again  for  the  swamp,  with 
her  apron  heavily  laden.  Tom  waited  and  waited  for  her, 

230  but  in  vain ;  midnight  came,  but  she  did  not  make  her  ap 
pearance  :  morning,  noon,  night  returned,  but  still  she  did 
not  come.  Tom  now  grew  uneasy  for  her  safety,  especially 
as  he  found  she  had  carried  off  in  her  apron  the  silver  tea 
pot  and  spoons,  and  every  portable  article  of  value.  An- 

235  other  night  elapsed,  another  morning  came;  but  no  wife. 
In  a  word,  she  was  never  heard  of  more. 

What  was  her  real  fate  nobody  knows,  in  consequence  of 
so  many  pretending  to  know.  It  is  one  of  those  facts 
which  have  become  confounded  by  a  variety  of  historians. 

240  Some  asserted  that  she  lost  her  way  among  the  tangled 
mazes  of  the  swamp,  and  sank  into  some  pit  or  slough; 
others,  more  uncharitable,  hinted  that  she  had  eloped  with 
the  household  booty,  and  made  off  to  some  other  province ; 


WASHINGTON   IRVING  83 

while  others  surmised  that  the  tempter  had  decoyed  her 
into  a  dismal  quagmire,  on  the  top  of  which  her  hat  was  245 
found  lying.  In  confirmation  of  this,  it  was  said  a  great 
black  man,  with  an  axe  on  his  shoulder,  was  seen  late  that 
very  evening  coming  out  of  the  swamp,  carrying  a  bundle 
tied  in  a  check  apron,  with  an  air  of  surly  triumph. 

The  most  current  and  probable  story,  however,  observes,  250 
that  Tom  Walker  grew  so  anxious  about  the  fate  of  his  wife 
and  his  property,  that  he  set  out  at  length  to  seek  them 
both  at  the  Indian  fort.     During  a  long  summer's  afternoon 
he  searched  about  the  gloomy  place,  but  no  wife  was  to  be 
seen.     He  called  her  name  repeatedly,  but  she  was  nowhere  255 
to  be  heard.     The  bittern  alone  responded  to  his  voice,  as 
he  flew  screaming  by;  or  the  bull-frog  croaked  dolefully 
from  a  neighboring  pool.     At  length,  it  is  said,  just  in  the 
brown  hour  of  twilight,  when  the  owls  began  to  hoot,  and 
the  bats  to  flit  about,  his  attention  was  attracted  by  the  260 
clamor  of  carrion  crows  hovering  about  a  cypress-tree.     He 
looked  up,  and  beheld  a  bundle  tied  in  a  check  apron,  and 
hanging  in  the  branches  of  the  tree,  with  a  great  vulture 
perched  hard  by,  as  if  keeping  watch  upon  it.     He  leaped 
with  joy;  for  he  recognized  his  wife's  apron,  and  supposed 265 
it  to  contain  the  household  valuables. 

"  Let  us  get  hold  of  the  property,"  said  he  consolingly  to 
himself,  "and  we  will  endeavor  to  do  without  the  woman." 

As  he  scrambled  up  the  tree,  the  vulture  spread  its  wide 
wings,  and  sailed  off  screaming  into  the  deep  shadows  of  270 
the   forest.     Tom   seized   the   checked   apron,   but  woeful 
sight !  found  nothing  but  a  heart  and  liver  tied  up  in  it ! 

Such,  according  to  this  most  authentic  old  story,  was  all 
that  was  to  be  found  of  Tom's  wife.     She  had  probably  at 
tempted  to  deal  with  the  black  man  as  she  had  been  accus-  275 
tomed  to  deal  with  her  husband ;  but  though  a  female  scold 
is  generally  considered  a  match  for  the  devil,  yet  in  this 


84  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

instance  she  appears  to  have  had  the  worst  of  it.     She  must 
have  died  game,  however ;  for  it  is  said  Tom  noticed  many 

280  prints  of  cloven  feet  deeply  stamped  about  the  tree,  and 
found  handfuls  of  hair,  that  looked  as  if  they  had  been 
plucked  from  the  coarse  black  shock  of  the  woodman.  Tom 
knew  his  wife's  prowess  by  experience.  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  as  he  looked  at  the  signs  of  a  fierce  elapper-claw- 

285  ing.  "  Egad,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  Old  Scratch  must  have 
had  a  tough  time  of  it ! " 

Tom  consoled  himself  for  the  loss  of  his  property,  with 
the  loss  of  his  wife,  for  he  was  a  man  of  fortitude.  He 
even  felt  something  like  gratitude  towards  the  black  wood- 

290  man,  who,  he  considered,  had  done  him  a  kindness.  He 
sought,  therefore,  to  cultivate  a  further  acquaintance  with 
him,  but  for  some  time  without  success  ;  the  old  black-legs 
played  shy,  for  whatever  people  may  think,  he  is  not  always 
to  be  had  for  calling  for:  he  knows  how  to  play  his  cards 

295  when  pretty  sure  of  his  game. 

At  length,  it  is  said,  when  delay  had  whetted  Tom's 
eagerness  to  the  quick,  and  prepared  him  to  agree  to  any 
thing  rather  than  not  gain  the  promised  treasure,  he  met 
the  black  man  one  evening  in  his  usual  woodman's  dress, 

300  with  his  axe  on  his  shoulder,  sauntering  along  the  swamp, 
and  humming  a  tune.  He  affected  to  receive  Tom's  ad 
vances  with  great  indifference,  made  brief  replies,  and  went 
on  humming  his  tune. 

By  degrees,  however,  Tom  brought  him  to  business,  and 

305  they  began  to  haggle  about  the  terms  on  which  the  former 
was  to  have  the  pirate's  treasure.  There  was  one  condition 
which  need  not  be  mentioned,  being  generally  understood  in 
all  cases  where  the  devil  grants  favors;  but  there  were 
others  about  which,  though  of  less  importance,  he  was  in- 

310  flexibly  obstinate.  He  insisted  that  the  money  found 
through  his  means  should  be  employed  in  his  service.  He 


WASHINGTON    IRVING  85 

proposed,  therefore,  that  Tom  should  employ  it  in  the  black 
traffic ;  that  is  to  say,  that  he  should  fit  out  a  slave-ship. 
This,  however,  Tom  resolutely  refused  :  he  was  bad  enough 
in  all  conscience ;  but  the  devil  himself  could  not  tempt  him  315 
to  turn  slave-trader. 

Finding  Tom  so  squeamish  on  this  point,  he  did  not  in 
sist  upon  it,  but  proposed,  instead,  that  he  should  turn 
usurer ;  the  devil  being  extremely  anxious  for  the  increase 
of  usurers,  looking  upon  them  as  his  peculiar  people.  320 

To  this  no  objections  were  made,  for  it  was  just  to  Tom's 
taste. 

"  You  shall  open  a  broker's  shop  in  Boston  next  month," 
said  the  black  man. 

"  I'll  do  it  to-morrow,  if  you  wish,"  said  Tom  Walker.        325 

"  You  shall  lend  money  at  two  per  cent,  a  month." 

"  Egad,  I'll  charge  four  !  "  replied  Tom  Walker. 

"  You  shall  extort  bonds,  foreclose  mortgages,  drive  the 
merchant  to  bankruptcy  " 

"  I'll  drive  him  to  the  d 1,"  cried  Tom  Walker.  330 

"  You  are  the  usurer  for  my  money  !  "  said  the  black-legs 
with  delight.  "  When  will  you  want  the  rhino  ?  " 

"  This  very  night." 

"  Done ! "  said  the  devil. 

"  Done  !  "  said  Tom  Walker.     So  they  shook  hands  and  335 
struck  a  bargain. 

A  few  days'  time  saw  Tom  Walker  seated  behind  his 
desk  in  a  counting-house  in  Boston. 

His  reputation  for  a  ready-moneyed  man,  who  would  lend 
money  out  for  a  good  consideration,  soon  spread  abroad.  340 
Everybody  remembers  the  time  of  Governor  Belcher,  when 
money  was  particularly  scarce.  It  was  a  time  of  paper 
credit.  The  country  had  been  deluged  with  government 
bills,  the  famous  Land  Bank  had  been  established ;  there 
had  been  a  rage  for  speculating ;  the  people  had  run  mad  345 


86  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

with  schemes  for  new  settlements ;  for  building  cities  in  the 
wilderness;  land-jobbers  went  about  with  maps  of  grants, 
and  townships,  and  Eldorados,  lying  nobody  knew  where, 
but  which  everybody  was  ready  to  purchase.  In  a  word, 

350  the  great  speculating  fever  which  breaks  out  every  now  and 
then  in  the  country  had  raged  to  an  alarming  degree,  and 
everybody  was  dreaming  of  making  sudden  fortunes  from 
nothing.  As  usual  the  fever  had  subsided ;  the  dream  had 
gone  off,  and  the  imaginary  fortunes  with  it ;  the  patients 

355  were  left  in  doleful  plight,  and  the  whole  country  resounded 
with  the  consequent  cry  of  "  hard  times." 

At  this  propitious  time  of  public  distress  did  Tom  Walker 
set  up  as  usurer  in  Boston.  His  door  was  soon  thronged 
by  customers.  The  needy  and  adventurous ;  the  gambling 

360  speculator  ;  the  dreaming  land-jobber ;  the  thriftless  trades 
man  ;  the  merchant  with  cracked  credit ;  in  short,  every 
one  driven  to  raise  money  by  desperate  means  and  desperate 
sacrifices,  hurried  to  Tom  Walker. 

Thus  Tom  was  the  universal  friend  of   the  needy,  and 

365  acted  like  a  "  friend  in  need " ;  that  is  to  say,  he  always 
exacted  good  pay  and  good  security.  In  proportion  to 
the  distress  of  the  applicant  was  the  hardness  of  his  terms. 
He  accumulated  bonds  and  mortgages ;  gradually  squeezed 
his  customers  closer  and  closer ;  and  sent  them  at  length, 

370  dry  as  a  sponge,  from  his  door. 

In  this  way  he  made  money  hand  over  hand ;  became 
a  rich  and  mighty  man,  and  exalted  his  cocked  hat  upon 
'Change.  He  built  himself,  as  usual,  a  vast  house,  out  of 
ostentation;  but  left  the  greater  part  of  it  unfinished  and- 

375  unfurnished,  out  of  parsimony.  He  even  set  up  a  carriage 
in  the  fullness  of  his  vainglory,  though  he  nearly  starved  the 
horses  which  drew  it ;  and  as  the  ungreased  wheels  groaned 
and  screeched  on  the  axle-trees,  you  would  have  thought 
you  heard  the  souls  of  the  poor  debtors  he  was  squeezing. 


WASHINGTON   IRVING  87 

As  Tom  waxed  old,  however,  he  grew  thoughtful.     Having  380 
secured  the  good  things   of  this    world,  he   began  to  feel 
anxious  about  those  of  the  next.     He  thought  with  regret 
on  the  bargain  he  had  made  with  his  black  friend,  and  set 
his  wits  to  work  to  cheat  him  out  of  the  conditions.     He 
became,  therefore,  all  of   a  sudden,  a  violent  church-goer.  385 
He  prayed  loudly  and  strenuously,  as  if  heaven  were  to  be 
taken  by  force  of  lungs.     Indeed,  one  might   always   tell 
when  he  had  sinned  most  during  the  week,  by  the  clamor 
of  his  Sunday  devotion.     The   quiet   Christians   who  had 
been   modestly  and   steadfastly   traveling   Zionward   were  390 
struck  with  self-reproach  at  seeing  themselves  so  suddenly 
outstripped  in  their  career  by  this  new-made  convert.     Tom 
was  as  rigid  in  religious  as  in  money  matters  ;  he  was  a 
stern  supervisor  and  censurer  of  his  neighbors,  and  seemed 
to  think  every  sin   entered  up   to  their  account  became  a  395 
credit  on  his  own  side  of  the  page.     He  even  talked  of  the 
expediency   of   reviving   the   persecution   of   Quakers   and 
Anabaptists.     In  a  word,  Tom's  zeal  became  as  notorious 
as  his  riches. 

Still,  in  spite  of  all  this  strenuous  attention   to  forms,  400 
Tom  had  a  lurking  dread  that  the  devil,  after  all,  would 
have  his  due.     That  he  might  not  be  taken  unawares,  there 
fore,  it  is  said  he  always  carried  a  small  Bible  in  his  coat- 
pocket.     He  had  also  a  great  folio  Bible  on  his  counting- 
house  desk,  and  would  frequently  be  found  reading  it  when  405 
people  called  on  business ;  on  such  occasions  he  would  lay 
his  green  spectacles  in  the  book,  to  mark  the  place,  while 
he  turned  round  to  drive  some  usurious  bargain. 

Some  say  that  Tom  grew  a  little  crack-brained  in  his  old 
days,  and  that  fancying  his  end  approaching,  he  had  his  410 
horse  new  shod,  saddled  and  bridled,  and  buried  with  his 
feet  uppermost;  because  he  supposed  that  at  the  last  day 
the  world  would  be  turned  upside  down ;  in  which  case  he 


88  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

should  find  his  horse  standing  ready  for  mounting,  and  he 

415  was  determined  at  the  worst  to  give  his  old  friend  a  run 
for  it.  This,  however,  is  probably  a  mere  old  wives'  fable. 
If  he  really  did  take  such  a  precaution,  it  was  totally  super 
fluous  ;  at  least  so  says  the  authentic  old  legend,  which 
closes  his  story  in  the  following  manner. 

420  One  hot  summer  afternoon  in  the  dog-days,  just  as  a 
terrible  black  thundergust  was  coming  up,  Tom  sat  in  his 
counting-house  in  his  white  linen  cap  and  India  silk  morning- 
gown.  He  was  on  the  point  of  foreclosing  a  mortgage,  by 
which  he  would  complete  the  ruin  of  an  unlucky  land 

425  speculator  for  whom  he  had  professed  the  greatest  friend 
ship.  The  poor  land-jobber  begged  him  to  grant  a  few 
months'  indulgence.  Tom  had  grown  testy  and  irritated, 
and  refused  another  day. 

"  My  family  will  be  ruined,  and  brought  upon  the  parish," 

430 said  the  land-jobber.  "Charity  begins  at  home,"  replied 
Tom ;  "  I  must  take  care  of  myself  in  these  hard  times." 

"  You  have  made  so  much  money  out  of  me,"  said  the 
speculator. 

Tom  lost  his  patience  and  his  piety  — "  The  devil  take 

435  me,"  said  he,  "  if  I  have  made  a  farthing !  " 

Just  then  there  were  three  loud  knocks  at  the  street 
door.  He  stepped  out  to  see  who  was  there.  A  black  man 
was  holding  a  black  horse,  which  neighed  and  stamped  with 
impatience. 

440  "  Tom,  you're  come  for,"  said  the  black  fellow,  gruffly. 
Tom  shrunk  back,  but  too  late.  He  had  left  his  little 
Bible  at  the  bottom  of  his  coat-pocket,  and  his  big  Bible  on 
the  desk  buried  under  the  mortgage  he  was  about  to  fore 
close  :  never  was  sinner  taken  more  unawares.  The  black 

445  man  whisked  him  like  a  child  into  the  saddle,  gave 
the  horse  the  lash,  and  he  galloped,  with  Tom  on  his 
back,  in  the  midst  of  the  thunderstorm.  The  clerks  stuck 


WASHINGTON   IRVING  89 

their  pens  behind  their  ears,  and  stared  after  him  from  the 
windows.     Away   went   Tom    Walker,    dashing   down   the   " 
streets;  his  white  cap  bobbing  up  and  down;  his  morning- 450 
gown  fluttering  in  the   wind,  and  his    steed   striking   fire 
out  of  the  pavement  at   every   bound.     When   the   clerks 
turned  to  look  for  the  black  man  he  had  disappeared. 

Tom  Walker  never   returned  to  foreclose  the  mortgage. 
A  countryman  who  lived  on  the  border  of  the  swamp  re- 455 
ported  that  in  the  height  of  the  thundergust  he  had  heard 
a  great  clattering  of  hoofs  and  a  howling  along  the  road, 
and  running  to  the  window  caught  sight  of  a  figure,  such 
as  I  have  described,    on   a   horse  that   galloped  like  mad 
across  the  fields,  over  the  hills,  and  down  into  the  black  460 
hemlock  swamp  towards   the   old   Indian   fort ;    and   that 
shortly  after  a  thunderbolt  falling  in  that  direction  seemed 
to  set  the  whole  forest  in  a  blaze. 

The  good  people  of  Boston  shook  their  heads  and  shrugged 
their    shoulders,    but    had   been    so   much   accustomed   to  465 
witches,  and  goblins,  and  tricks  of  the  devil,  in  all  kinds  of 
shapes,  from  the  first  settlement  of  the  colony,  that  they 
were  not  so  much   horror-struck   as   might  have  been   ex 
pected.     Trustees  were  appointed  to  take  charge  of  Tom's  ef 
fects.     There  was   nothing,  however,  to   administer   upon.  470 
On  searching  his  coffers  all  his  bonds  and  mortgages  were 
found  reduced  to  cinders.     In  place  of  gold  and  silver  his 
iron  chest  was  filled  with  chips  and  shavings  ;  two  skeletons 
lay  in  his  stable  instead  of  his  half-starved  horses,  and  the 
very  next  day  his  great  house  took  fire  and  was  burnt  to  the  475 
ground. 

Such   was   the   end   of  Tom   Walker  and  his  ill-gotten 
wealth.     Let  all  griping  money-brokers   lay  this   story  to 
heart.     The  truth  of  it  is  not  to  be  doubted.     The  very  hole 
under  the  oak-trees,  whence  he  dug  Kidd's  money,  is  to  be  480 
seen  to  this  day  ;  and  the  neighboring  swamp  and  old  Indian 


90  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

fort  are  often  haunted  in  stormy  nights  by  a  figure  on  horse 
back,  in  morning-gown  and  white  cap,  which  is  doubtless  the 
troubled  spirit  of  the  usurer.  In  fact,  the  story  has  resolved 
485  itself  into  a  proverb,  and  is  the  origin  of  that  popular  say 
ing,  so  prevalent  throughout  New  England  of  "  The  Devil 
and  Tom  Walker." 

WILLIAM   CULLEN   BRYANT 
Thanatopsis 

To  him  who  in  the  love  of  Nature  hold'o 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A  various  language ;  for  his  gayer  hours 
She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 
5  And  eloquence  of  beauty,  and  she  glides 

Into  his  darker  musings,  with  a  mild 
And  healing  sympathy,  that  steals  away 
Their  sharpness,  ere  he  is  aware.     When  thoughts 
Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come  like  a  blight 

10  Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images 

Of  the  stern  agony,  and  shroud,  and  pall, 

And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house, 

Make  thee  to  shudder,  and  grow  sick  at  heart ; 

Go  forth,  under  the  open  sky,  and  list 

15  To  Nature's  teachings,  while  from  all  around  — 

Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air  — 
Comes  a  still  voice —  Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee 
The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 
In  all  his  course ;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground, 

20  Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid,  with  many  tears, 

Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean,  shall  exist 
Thy  image.     Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall  claim 
Thy  growth,  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again, 
And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendering  up 

JThe  poems  of  Bryant  are  reprinted  by  permission  of  D.  Appleton  &  Co., 
the  authorized  publishers  of  his  works. 


WILLIAM   CULLEN   BRYANT  91 

Thine  individual  being,  shalt  them  go  25 

To  mix  forever  with  the  elements, 

To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock 

And  to  the  sluggish  clod,  which  the  rude  swain 

Turns  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon.     The  oak 

Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mould.  30 

Yet  not  to  thine  eternal  resting-place 
Shalt  thou  retire  alone,  nor  couldst  thou  wish 
Couch  more  magnificent.     Thou  shalt  lie  down 
With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world  —  with  kings, 
The  powerful  of  the  earth  —  the  wise,  the  good,  35 

Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past, 
All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre.     The  hills 
Rock-ribbed  and  ancient  as  the  sun,  —  the  vales 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between ; 
The  venerable  woods  — •  rivers  that  move  40 

In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks 
That  make  the  meadows  green ;  and,  poured  round  all, 
Old  Ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste,  — 
Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 

Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.     The  golden  sun,  45 

The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven, 
Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death, 
Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.     All  that  tread 
The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom.  —  Take  the  wings  50 

Of  morning,  pierce  the  Barcan  wilderness, 
Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound, 
Save  his  own  dashings  —  yet  the  dead  are  there : 
And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first  55 

The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 
In  their  last  sleep  —  the  dead  reign  there  alone. 
So  shalt  thou  rest,  and  what  if  thou  withdraw 
In  silence  from  the  living,  and  no  friend 
Take  note  of  thy  departure  ?     All  that  breathe  60 

Will  share  thy  destiny.     The  gay  will  laugh 


92  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

When  them  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 
Plod  on,  and  each  one  as  before  will  chase 
His  favorite  phantom ;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 

65  Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come 

And  make  their  bed  with  thee.     As  the  long  train 
Of  ages  glide  away,  the  sons  of  men, 
The  youth  in  life's  green  spring,  and  he  who  goes 
In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron  and  maid, 

70  The  speechless  babe,  and  the  gray-headed  man  — 

Shall  one  by  one  be  gathered  to  thy  side, 
By  those,  who  in  their  turn  shall  follow  them. 

So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan,  which  moves 

75  To  that  mysterious  realm,  where  each  shall  take 

His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 
Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night, 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon,  but,  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave, 

80  Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 

About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 


To  a  Waterfowl 

Whither,  midst  falling  dew, 

While  glow  the  heavens  with  the  last  steps  of  day, 
Far,  through  their  rosy  depths,  dost  thou  pursue 

Thy  solitary  way  ? 

5  Vainly  the  fowler's  eye 

Might  mark  thy  distant  flight  to  do  thee  wrong, 
As,  darkly  seen  against  the  crimson  sky, 
Thy  figure  floats  along. 

Seek'st  thou  the  plashy  brink 
10  Of  weedy  lake,  or  marge  of  river  wide, 

Or  where  the  rocking  billows  rise  and  sink 
On  the  chafed  ocean-side  ? 


WILLIAM   CULLEN   BRYANT  93 

There  is  a  Power  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast  — 
The  desert  and  illimitable  air  —  15 

Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost. 

All  day  thy  wings  have  fanned, 
At  that  far  height,  the  cold,  thin  atmosphere, 
Yet  stoop  not,  weary,  to  the  welcome  land, 

Though  the  dark  night  is  near.  20 

And  soon  that  toil  shall  end; 
Soon  shalt  thou  find  a  summer  home,  and  rest, 
And  scream  among  thy  fellows ;  reeds  shall  bend, 

Soon,  o'er  thy  sheltered  nest. 

Thou'rt  gone,  the  abyss  of  heaven  25 

Hath  swallowed  up  thy  form  ;  yet,  on  my  heart 
Deeply  has  sunk  the  lesson  thou  hast  given, 

And  shall  not  soon  depart. 

He  who,  from  zone  to  zone, 

Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain  flight,  30 

In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone, 

Will  lead  my  steps  aright. 

A  Forest  Hymn 

The  groves  were  God's  first  temples. 

Ere  man  learned 

To  hew  the  shaft,  and  lay  the  architrave, 
And  spread  the  roof  above  them  —  ere  he  framed 
The  lofty  vault,  to  gather  and  roll  back  5 

The  sound  of  anthems;  in  the  darkling  wood, 
Amid  the  cool  and  silence,  he  knelt  down, 
And  offered  to  the  Mightiest  solemn  thanks 
And  supplication.     For  his  simple  heart 

Might  not  resist  the  sacred  influences  10 

Which,  from  the  stilly  twilight  of  the  place, 
And  from  the  gray  old  trunks  that  high  in  heaven 


04  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Mingled  their  mossy  boughs,  and  from  the  sound 
Of  the  invisible  breath  that  swayed  at  once 
15  All  their  green  tops,  stole  over  him,  and  bowed 

His  spirit  with  the  thought  of  boundless  power 
And  inaccessible  majesty.     Ah,  why 
Should  we,  in  the  world's  riper  years,  neglect 
God's  ancient  sanctuaries,  and  adore 
•  Only  among  the  crowd,  and  under  roofs 
That  our  frail  hands  have  raised  ?     Let  me,  at  least, 
Here,  in  the  shadow  of  this  aged  wood, 
Offer  one  hymn  —  thrice  happy,  if  it  find 
Acceptance  in  his  ear. 

Father,  thy  hand 

25  Hath  reared  these  venerable  columns,  Thou 

Didst  weave  this  verdant  roof.     Thou  didst  look  down 
Upon  the  naked  earth,  and,  forthwith,  rose 
All  these  fair  ranks  of  trees.     They,  in  thy  sun, 
Budded,  and  shook  their  green  leaves  in  thy  breeze, 

30  And  shot  toward  heaven.     The  century -living  crow, 

Whose  birth  was  in  their  tops,  grew  old  and  died 
Among  their  branches,  till,  at  last,  they  stood, 
As  now  they  stand,  massy,  and  tall,  and  dark, 
Fit  shrine  for  humble  worshipper  to  hold 

35  Communion  with  his  Maker.     These  dim  vaults, 

These  winding  aisles,  of  human  pomp  or  pride 
Report  not.     No  fantastic  carvings  show 
The  boast  of  our  vain  race  to  change  the  form 
Of  thy  fair  works.     But  thou  art  here  —  Thou  fill'st 

40  The  solitude.     Thou  art  in  the  soft  winds 

That  run  along  the  summit  of  these  trees 
In  music  ;  Thou  art  in  the  cooler  breath 
That  from  the  inmost  darkness  of  the  place 
Comes,  scarcely  felt ;  the  barky  trunks,  the  ground, 

45  The  fresh  moist  ground,  are  all  instinct  with  Thee. 

Here  is  continual  worship ;  —  .Nature,  here, 
In  the  tranquillity  that  Thou  dost  love, 
Enjoys  thy  presence.     Noiselessly,  around, 
From  perch  to  perch,  fhe  solitary  bird 


WILLIAM   CULLEN   BRYANT  95 

Passes ;  and  yon  clear  spring,  that,  midst  its  herbs,  50 

Wells  softly  forth  and  wandering  steeps  the  roots 

Of  half  the  mighty  forest,  tells  no  tale 

Of  all  the  good  it  does.     Thou  hast  not  left 

Thyself  without  a  witness,  in  the  shades, 

Of  thy  perfections.     Grandeur,  strength,  and  grace  55 

Are  here  to  speak  of  Thee.     This  mighty  oak  — 

By  whose  immovable  stem  I  stand  and  seem 

Almost  annihilated  —  not  a  prince, 

In  all  that  proud  old  world  beyond  the  deep, 

E'er  wore  his  crown  as  loftily  as  he  60 

Wears  the  green  coronal  of  leaves  with  which 

Thy  hand  has  graced  him.     Nestled  at  his  root 

Is  beauty,  such  as  blooms  not  in  the  glare 

Of  the  broad  sun.     That  delicate  forest  flower, 

With  scented  breath  and  look  so  like  a  smile,  65 

Seems,  as  it  issues  from  the  shapeless  mould, 

An  emanation  of  the  indwelling  Life, 

A  visible  token  of  the  upholding  Love, 

That  are  the  soul  of  this  great  universe. 

My  heart  is  awed  within  me  when  I  think  70 

Of  the  great  miracle  that  still  goes  on, 
In  silence,  round  me  —  the  perpetual  work 
Of  thy  creation,  finished,  yet  renewed 
Forever.     Written  on  thy  works  I  read 

The  lesson  of  thy  own  eternity.  75 

Lo  !  all  grow  old  and  die  —  but  see  again, 
How  on  the  faltering  footsteps  of  decay 
Youth  presses  — -  ever  gay  and  beautiful  youth 
In  all  its  beautiful  forms.     These  lofty  trees 
Wave  not  less  proudly  than  their  ancestors  80 

Moulder  beneath  them.     Oh,  there  is  not  lost 
One  of  earth's  charms  :  upon  her  bosom  yet,  j 

After  the  flight  of  untold  centuries, 
The  freshness  of  her  far  "beginning  lies 

And  yet  shall  lie.     Life  mocks  the  idle  hate  85 

Of  his  arch-enemy  Death — yea,  seats  himself 
Upon  the  tyrant's  throne  —  the  sepulchre, 


96  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

And  of  the  triumphs  of  his  ghastly  foe 
Makes  his  own  nourishment.     For  he  came  forth 
90  From  thine  own  bosom,  and  shall  have  no  end. 

There  have  been  holy  men  who  hid  themselves 
Deep  in  the  woody  wilderness,  and  gave 
Their  lives  to  thought  and  prayer,  till  they  outlived 
The  generation  born  with  them,  nor  seemed 
95  Less  aged  than  the  hoary  trees  and  rocks 

Around  them ;  —  and  there  have  been  holy  men 
Who  deemed  it  were  not  well  to  pass  life  thus. 
But  let  me  often  to  these  solitudes 
Retire,  and  in  thy  presence  reassure 

100  My  feeble  virtue.     Here  its  enemies, 

The  passions,  at  thy  plainer  footsteps  shrink 
And  tremble  and  are  still.     O  God !  when  Thou 
Dost  scare  the  world  with  tempest,  set  on  fire 
The  heavens  with  falling  thunderbolts,  or  fill, 

105  With  all  the  waters  of  the  firmament, 

The  swift  dark  whirlwind  that  uproots  the  woods 
And  drowns  the  villages;  when,  at  thy  call, 
Uprises  the  great  deep  and  throws  himself 
Upon  the  continent,  and  overwhelms 

110  Its  cities  —  who  forgets  not,  at  the  sight 

Of  these  tremendous  tokens  of  thy  power, 
His  pride,  and  lays  his  strifes  and  follies  by? 
Oh,  from  these  sterner  aspects  of  thy  face 
Spare  me  and  mine,  nor  let  us  need  the  wrath 

115  Of  the  mad  unchained  elements  to  teach 

Who  rules  them.     Be  it  ours  to  meditate, 
In  these  calm  shades,  thy  milder  majesty, 
And  to  the  beautiful  order  of  thy  works 
Learn  to  conform  the  order  of  our  lives. 


WILLIAM   CULLEN  BRYANT  97 

The  Death  of  the  Flowers 

The  melancholy  days  are  come,  the  saddest  of  the  year, 

Of  wailing  winds,  and  naked  woods,  and  meadows  brown  and  sear. 

Heaped  in  the  hollows  of  the  grove,  the  autumn  leaves  lie  dead ; 

They  rustle  to  the  eddying  gust,  and  to  the  rabbit's  tread. 

The  robin  and  the  wren  are  flown,  and  from  the  shrubs  the  jay,      5 

And  from  the  wood  top  calls  the  crow  through  all  the  gloomy  day. 

Where  are  the  flowers,  the  fair  young  flowers,  that  lately  sprang 

and  stood 

In  brighter  light  and  softer  airs,  a  beauteous  sisterhood  ? 
Alas  !  they  all  are  in  their  graves,  the  gentle  race  of  flowers 
Are  lying  in  their  lowly  beds,  with  the  fair  and  good  of  ours.  10 

The  rain  is  falling  where  they  lie,  but  the  cold  November  rain 
Calls  not  from  out  the  gloomy  earth  the  lovely  ones  again. 

The  wind  flower  and  the  violet,  they  perished  long  ago, 

And  the  brier  rose  and  the  orchis  died  amid  the  summer  glow ; 

But  on  the  hill  the  goldenrod,  and  the  aster  in  the  wood,  15 

And  the  yellow  sunflower  by  the  brook,  in  autumn  beauty  stood, 

Till  fell  the  frost  from  the  clear  cold  heaven,  as  falls  the  plague  on 

men, 
And  the  brightness  of  their  smile  was  gone,  from  upland,  glade, 

and  glen. 

And  new,  when  comes  the  calm  "mild  day,  as  still  such  days  will 

come, 

To  call  the  squirrel  and  the  bee  from  out  their  winter  home ;  20 

When  the  sound  of  dropping  nuts  is  heard,  though  all  the  trees 

are  still, 

And  twinkle  in  the  smoky  light  the  waters  of  the  rill, 
The  south  wind  searches  for  the  flowers  whose  fragrance  late  lie  ' 

bore, 
And  sighs  to  find  them  in  the  wood  and  by  the  stream  no  more. 

And  then  I  think  of  one  who  in  her  youthful  beauty  died,  25 

The  fair  meek  blossom  that  grew  up  and  faded  by  my  side. 


98  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

In  the  cold  moist  earth  we  laid  her,  when  the  forest  cast  the  leaf, 
And  we  wept  that  one  so  lovely  should  have  a  life  so  brief : 
Yet  not  unmeet  it  was  that  one  like  that  young  friend  of  ours, 
30  So  gentle  and  so  beautiful,  should  perish  with  the  flowers. 

To  the  Fringed  Gentian 

Thou  blossom  bright  with  autumn  dew, 
And  colored  with  the  heaven's  own  blue, 
That  openest  when  the  quiet  light 
Succeeds  the  keen  and  frosty  night, 

6  Thou  comest  not  when  violets  lean 

O'er  wandering  brooks  and  springs  unseen, 
Or  columbines,  in  purple  dressed, 
Nod  o'er  the  ground-bird's  hidden  nest. 

Thou  waitest  late  and  com'st  alone, 

10  When  woods  are  bare  and  birds  are  flown, 

And  frosts  and  shortening  days  portend 
The  aged  year  is  near  his  end. 

Then  doth  thy  sweet  and  quiet  eye 
Look  through  its  fringes  to  the  sky, 
15  Blue  —  blue  —  as  if  that  sky  let  fall 

A  flower  from  its  cerulean  wall. 

I  would  that  thus,  when  I  shall  see 
The  hour  of  death  draw  near  to  me, 
Hope,  blossoming  within  my  heart, 
20  May  look  to  heaven  as  I  depart. 


The  Gladness  of  Nature 

Is  this  a  time  to  be  cloudy  and  sad, 

When  our  mother  Nature  laughs  around ; 

When  even  the  deep  blue  heavens  look  glad, 

And  gladness  breathes  from  the  blossoming  ground  ? 


WILLIAM   CULLEN   BKYANT  99 

There  are  notes  of  joy  from  the  hang-bird  and  wren,  5 

And  the  gossip  of  swallows  through  all  the  sky ; 

The  ground-squirrel  gayly  chirps  by  his  den, 
And  the  wilding  bee  hums  merrily  by. 

The  clouds  are  at  play  in  the  azure  space, 

And  their  shadows  at  play  on  the  bright  green  vale,  10 

And  here  they  stretch  to  the  frolic  chase, 

And  there  they  roll  on  the  easy  gale. 

There's  a  dance  of  leaves  in  that  aspen  bower, 
There's  a  titter  of  winds  in  that  beechen  tree, 

There's  a  smile  on  the  fruit,  and  a  smile  on  the  flower,          15 
And  a  laugh  from  the  brook  that  runs  to  the  sea. 

And  look  at  the  broad-faced  sun,  how  he  smiles 

On  the  dewy  earth  that  smiles  in  his  ray, 
On  the  leaping  waters  and  gay  young  isles; 

Ay,  look,  and  he'll  smile  thy  gloom  away.  20 

Robert  of  Lincoln 

Merrily  swinging  on  brier  and  weed, 
Near  to  the  nest  of  his  little  dame, 
Over  the  mountain-side  or  mead, 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  telling  his  name : 

Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link,  5 

Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Snug  and  safe  is  that  nest  of  ours, 
Hidden  among  the  summer  flowers. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  gayly  drest, 

Wearing  a  bright  black  wedding-coat ; 
White  are  his  shoulders  and  white  his  crest. 
Hear  him  call  in  his  merry  note : 
Bob-o'-lirik,  bob-oVLink, 

Spink,  spank,  spink  ;  15 

Look,  what  a  nice  new  coat  is  mine, 
Sure  there  was  never  a  bird  so  fine. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 


100  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Robert  of  Lincoln's  Quaker  wife, 

20  Pretty  and  quiet,  with  plain  brown  wings, 

Passing  at  home  a  patient  life, 

Broods  in  the  grass  while  her  husband  sings: 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 

1  25  Brood,  kind  creature ;  you  need  not  fear 

Thieves  and  robbers  while  I  am  here. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Modest  and  shy  as  a  nun  is  she ; 

One  weak  chirp  is  her  only  note. 
30  Braggart  and  prince  of  braggarts  is  he, 

Pouring  boasts  from  his  little  throat : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Never  was  I  afraid  of  man ; 

35  Catch  me,  cowardly  knaves,  if  you  can  ! 

Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Six  white  eggs  on  a  bed  of  hay, 

Flecked  with  purple,  a  pretty  sight  I 
There  as  the  mother  sits  all  day, 

40  Robert  is  singing  with  all  his  might : 

Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Nice  good  wife,  that  never  goes  out, 
keeping  house  while  I  frolic  about. 
45  Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Soon  as  the  little  ones  chip  the  shell, 

Six  wide  mouths  are  open  for  food : 
Robert  of  Lincoln  bestirs  him  well, 
Gathering  seeds  for  the  hungry  brood. 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
This  new  life  is  likely  to  be 
Hard  for  a  gay  young  fellow  like  me. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 


WILLIAM   CULLEN   BRYANT  101 

Robert  of  Lincoln  at  length  is  made  55 

Sober  with  work,  and  silent  with  care  ; 
Off  is  his  holiday  garment  laid, 
Half  forgotten  that  merry  air : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 

Spink,  spank,  spink  ;  60 

Nobody  knows  but  my  mate  and  I 
Where  our  nest  and  nestlings  lie. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Summer  wanes ;  the  children  are  grown ; 

Fun  and  frolic  no  more  he  knows ;  65 

Robert  of  Lincoln's  a  humdrum  crone  ; 
Off  he  flies,  and  we  sing  as  he  goes : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 

When  you  can  pipe  that  merry  old  strain,  70 

Robert  of  Lincoln,  come  back  again. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

The  Hurricane 

Lord  of  the  winds  !  I  feel  thee  nigh, 
I  know  thy  breath  in  the  burning  sky  ! 
And  I  wait,  with  a  thrill  in  every  vein, 
For  the  coming  of  the  hurricane ! 

And  lo !  on  the  wing  of  the  heavy  gales,  5 

Through  the  boundless  arch  of  heaven  he  sails ; 
Silent,  and  slow,  and  terribly  strong, 
The  mighty  shadow  is  borne  along, 
Like  the  dark  eternity  to  come  ; 

While  the  world  below,  dismayed  and  dumb,  10 

Through  the  calm  of  the  thick  hot  atmosphere 
Looks  up  at  its  gloomy  folds  with  fear. 

They  darken  fast  —  and  the  golden  blaze 
Of  the  sun  is  quenched  in  the  lurid  haze, 
And  he  sends  through  the  shade  a  funeral  ray  —  15 

A  glare  that  is  neither  night  nor  day, 


102  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

A  beam  that  touches,  with  hues  of  death, 
The  clouds  above  and  the  earth  beneath. 
To  its  covert  glides  the  silent  bird, 

20  While  the  hurricane's  distant  voice  is  heard, 

Uplifted  among  the  mountains  round, 
And  the  forests  hear  and  answer  the  sound. 

He  is  come  !  he  is  come !  do  ye  not  behold 
His  ample  robes  on  the  wind  unrolled  ? 

25  Giant  of  air !  we  bid  thee  hail  1  — 

How  his  gray  skirts  toss  in  the  whirling  gale; 
How  his  huge  and  writhing  arms  are  bent, 
To  clasp  the  zone  of  the  firmament, 
And  fold,  at  length,  in  their  dark  embrace, 

30  From  mountain  to  mountain  the  visible  space. 

Darker  —  still  darker  !  the  whirlwinds  bear 
The  dust  of  the  plains  to  the  middle  air : 
And  hark  to  the  crashing,  long  and  loud, 
Of  the  chariot  of  God  in  the  thunder-cloud  ! 

35  You  may  trace  its  path  by  the  flashes  that  start 

From  the  rapid  wheels  where'er  they  dart, 
As  the  fire-bolts  leap  to  the  world  below, 
And  flood  the  skies  with  a  lurid  glow. 

What  roar  is  that?  —  'tis  the  rain  that  breaks 

40  In  torrents  away  from  the  airy  lakes, 

Heavily  poured  on  the  shuddering  ground, 
And  shedding  a  nameless  horror  round. 
Ah !  well-known  woods,  and  mountains,  and  skies, 
WTith  the  very  clouds  !  —  ye  are  lost  to  my  eyes. 

45  I  seek  ye  vainly  and  see  in  your  place 

The  shadowy  tempest  that  sweeps  through  space, 
A  whirling  ocean  that  fills  the  wall 
Of  the  crystal  heaven,  and  buries  all. 
And  I,  cut  off  from  the  world,  remain 

50  Alone  with  the  terrible  hurricane. 


JAMES   FENIMORE    COOPER  103 

JAMES   FENIMORE   COOPER 

The  Fight  Between  the  Ariel  and  the  Alacrity 

(From  The  Pilot,  Chapter  18) 

The  English  cutter  held  her  way  from  the  land,  until  she 
got  an  offing  of  more  than  two  miles,  when  she  reduced 
her  sails  to  a  yet  smaller  number;,  and  heaving  into  the 
wind,  she  fired  a  gun  in  a  direction  opposite  to  that  which 
pointed  to  the  Ariel.  5 

"  Now  I  would  wager  a  quintal  of  codfish,  Master  Coffin," 
said  Barnstable,  "  against  the  best  cask  of  porter  that  was 
ever  brewed  in  England,  that  fellow  believes  a  Yankee 
schooner  can  fly  in  the  wind's  eye  !  If  he  wishes  to  speak 
to  us,  why  don't  he  give  his  cutter  a  little  sheet,  and  come  10 
down  ? " 

The  cockswain  had  made  his  arrangements  for  the  com 
bat,  with  much  more  method  and  philosophy  than  any 
other  man  in  the  vessel.  When  the  drum  beat  to  quarters, 
he  threw  aside  his  jacket,  vest,  and  shirt,  with  as  little  15 
hesitation  as  if  he  stood  under  an  American  sun,  and  with 
all  the  discretion  of  a  man  who  had  engaged  in  an  under 
taking  that  required  the  free  use  of  his  utmost  powers.  As 
he  was  known  to  be  a  privileged  individual  in  the  Ariel, 
and  one  whose  opinions,  in  all  matters  of  seamanship,  were  20 
regarded  as  oracles  by  the  crew,  and  were  listened  to  by 
his  commander  with  no  little  demonstration  of  respect,  the 
question  excited  no  surprise.  He  was  standing  at  the 
breech  of  his  long  gun,  with  his  brawny  arms  folded  on  a 
breast  that  had  been  turned  to  the  color  of  blood  by  long  25 
exposure,  his  grizzled  locks  fluttering  in  the  breeze,  and  his 
tall  form  towering  far  above  the  heads  of  all  near  him. 

"  He  hugs  the  wind,  sir,  as  if  it  was  his  sweetheart,"  was 


104  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

his  answer;  "but  he'll  let  go  his  hold  soon;  and  if  he  don't, 

30  we  can  find  a  way  to  make  him  fall  to  leeward." 

"  Keep  a  good  full ! "  cried  the  commander,  in  a  stern 
voice ;  "  and  let  the  vessel  go  through  the  water.  That  fel 
low  walks  well,  long  Tom ;  but  we  are  too  much  for  him  on 
a  bowline ;  though,  if  he  continue  to  draw  ahead  in  this 

35  manner,  it  will  be  night  before  we  can  get  alongside  him." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir,"  returned  the  cockswain ;  "  them  cutters 
carries  a  press  of  canvas  when  they  seem  to  have  but  little ; 
their  gaffs  are  all  the  same  as  young  booms,  and  spread  a 
broad  head  to  their  mainsails.  But  it's  no  hard  matter  to 

40  knock  a  few  cloths  out  of  their  bolt-ropes,  when  she  will 
drop  astarn  and  to  leeward." 

"  I  believe  there  is  good  sense  in  your  scheme,  this  time," 
said  Barnstable ;  "  for  I  am  anxious  about  the  frigate's 
people  —  though  I  hate  a  noisy  chase;  speak  to  him,  Tom, 

45  and  let  us  see  if  he  will  answer." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir,"  cried  the  cockswain,  sinking  his  body  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  let  his  head  fall  to  a  level  with  the 
cannon  that  he  controlled,  when,  after  divers  orders,  and 
sundry  movements  to  govern  the  direction  of  the  piece,  he 

50  applied  a  match,  with  a  rapid  motion,  to  the  priming.  An 
immense  body  of  white  smoke  rushed  from  the  muzzle  of 
the  cannon,  followed  by  a  sheet  of  vivid  fire,  until,  losing 
its  power,  it  yielded  to  the  wind,  and  as  it  rose  from  the 
water,  spread  like  a  cloud,  and,  passing  through  the  masts 

55  of  the  schooner,  was  driven  far  to  leeward,  and  soon 
blended  in  the  lists  which  were  swiftly  scudding  before  the 
fresh  breezes  of  the  ocean. 

Although  many  curious  eyes  were  watching  this  beautiful 
sight  from  the  cliffs,  there  was  too  little  of  novelty  in  the 

60  exhibition  to  attract  a  single  look  of  the  crew  of  the  schooner, 
from  the  more  important  examination  of  the  effect  of  a  shot 
on  their  enemy.  Barnstable  sprang  lightly  on  a  gun,  and 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  105 

watched  the  instant  when  the  ball  would  strike  with  keen 
interest,  while  long  Tom  threw  himself  aside  from  the  line 
of  the  smoke  with  a  similar  intention ;  holding  one  of  his  65 
long  arms  extended  towards  his  namesake,  with  a  finger  on 
the  vent,  and  supporting  his  frame  by  placing  the  hand  of 
the  other  on  the  deck,  as  his  eyes  •  glanced  through  an 
opposite  port-hole,  in  an  attitude  that  most  men  might  have 
despaired  of  imitating  with  success.  70 

"  There  go  the  chips  !  "  cried  Barnstable.  "  Bravo ! 
Master  Coffin,  you  never  planted  iron  in  the  ribs  of  an 
Englishman  with  more  judgment.  Let  him  have  another 
piece  of  it ;  and  if  he  likes  the  sport,  we'll  play  a  game  of 
long  bowls  with  him  !  "  75 

"Ay,  ay,  sir,"  returned  the  cockswain,  who,  the  instant 
he  witnessed  the  effects  of  his  shot,  had  returned  to  superin 
tend  the  reloading  of  his  gun ;  "  if  he  holds  on  half  an  hour 
longer,  I'll  dub  him  down  to  our  own  size,  when  we  can 
close  and  make  an  even  fight  of  it."  80 

The  drum  of  the  Englishman  was  now,  for  the  first  time, 
heard,  rattling  across  the  waters,  and  echoing  the  call  to 
quarters,  that  had  already  proceeded  from  the  Ariel. 

11  Ah  !  you  have  sent  him  to  his  guns  !  "  said  Barnstable  ; 
"  we  shall  now  hear  more  of  it ;  wake  him  up,  Tom  —  wake  85 
him  up ! " 

"  We  shall  start  him  on  end,  or  put  him  to  sleep  altogether, 
shortly,"  said  the  deliberate  cockswain,  who  never  allowed 
himself  to  be  at  all  hurried,  even  by  his  commander.  "  My 
shot  are  pretty  much  like  a  shoal  of  porpoises,  and  com- 90 
monly  sail  in  each  other's  wake.  Stand  by  —  heave  her 
breech  forward  —  so;  get  out  of  that,  you  damned  young 
reprobate,  and  let  my  harpoon  alone  !  " 

"  What  are  you  at,  there,  Master  Coffin  ? "  cried  Barn- 
stable  ;  "  are  you  tongue-tied  ?  "  95 

"  Here's  one  of  the  boys  skylarking  with  my  harpoon  in 


106  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

the  lee-scuppers,  and  by-and-by,  when  I  shall  want  it  most, 
there'll  be  a  no-man's-land  to  hunt  for  it  in." 

"  Never  mind  the  boy,  Tom ;  send  him  aft  here  to  me,  and 

100 I'll  polish  his  behavior;  give  the  Englishman  some  more 
iron." 

"  I  want  the  little  villain  to  pass  up  my  cartridges,"  re* 
turned  the  angry  old  seaman  ;  "  but  if  you'll  be  so  good,  sir, 
as  to  hit  him  a  crack  or  two,  now  and  then,  as  he  goes  by 

105  you  to  the  magazine,  the  monkey  will  learn  his  manners,  and 
the  schooner's  work  will  be  all  the  better  done  for  it.  A  young 
herring-faced  monkey  !  to  meddle  with  a  tool  ye  don't  know 
the  use  of.  If  your  parents  had  spent  more  of  their  money 
on  your  education,  and  less  on  your  outfit,  you'd  ha'  been  a 

110  gentleman  to  what  ye  are  now." 

"  Hurrah !  Tom,  hurrah !  "  cried  Barnstable,  a  little  im 
patiently  ;  "  is  your  namesake  never  to  open  his  throat  again ! " 
"Ay,  ay,  sir;  all  ready,"  grumbled  the  coxswain;  "de 
press  a  little ;  so  —  so ;  a  damned  young  baboon-behaved  cur- 

H5mudgeon;  overhaul  that  forward  fall  more;  stand  by  with 
your  match — but  I'll  pay  him ! — fire ! "  This  was  the  actual 
commencement  of  the  fight ;  for  as  the  shot  of  Tom  Coffin 
travelled,  as  he  had  intimated,  very  much  in  the  same 
direction,  their  enemy  found  the  sport  becoming  too  hot  to 

120  be  endured  in  silence,  and  the  report  of  the  second  gun  from 
the  Ariel  was  instantly  followed  by  that  of  the  whole  broad 
side  of  the  Alacrity.  The  shot  of  the  cutter  flew  in.  a  very 
good  direction,  but  her  guns  were  too  light  to  give  them 
efficiency  at  that  distance ;  and  as  one  or  two  were  heard  to 

125  strike  against  the  bends  of  the  schooner,  and  fall  back,  in 
nocuously,  into  the  water,  the  cockswain,  whose  good-humor 
became  gradually  restored  as  the  combat  thickened,  re 
marked  with  his  customary  apathy,  — 

"  Them   count   for   no   more   than   love-taps  —  does   the 

130  Englishman  think  that  we  are  firing  salutes  ! " 


JAMES   FENIMORE.  COOPER  107 

"  Stir  him  up,  Tom !  every  blow  you  give  him  will  help 
to  open  his  eyes,"  cried  Barustable,  rubbing  his  hands  with 
glee  as  he  witnessed  the  success  of  his  efforts  to  close. 

Thus  far  the  cockswain  and  his  crew  had  the  fight,  on 
the  part  of  the  Ariel,  altogether   to  themselves,  the   men  135 
who  were  stationed  at  the  smaller  and  shorter  guns  stand 
ing  in  perfect  idleness  by  their  sides ;  but  in  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes  the   commander   of  the   Alacrity,   who   had   been 
staggered  by  the  weight  of  the  shot  that  had  struck  him, 
found  that  it  was  no  longer  in  his  power  to  retreat,  if  he  140 
wished  it;  when  he  decided  on  the  only  course  that  was 
left  for  a  brave  man  to  pursue,  and  steered  boldly  in  such 
a  direction  as  would  soonest  bring  him  in  contact  with  his 
enemy,  without   exposing   his   vessel  to   be  raked   by   his 
fire.     Barnstable  watched  each  movement  of  his  foe  with  145 
eagle  eyes,  and  when  the  vessel  had  got  within  a  lessened 
distance,  he  gave  the  order  for  a  general  fire  to  be  opened. 
The  action  now  grew   warm   and   spirited  on   both   sides. 
The  power  of  the  wind  was  counteracted  by  the  constant 
explosion  of  the  cannon ;  and,  instead  of   driving   rapidly  150 
to  leeward,  a  white  canopy  of   curling  smoke  hung  above 
the  Ariel,  or  rested  on  the  water,  lingering  in  her  wake, 
so  as  to  mark  the  path  by  which  she  was  approaching  to 
a  closer  and   still   deadlier   struggle.     The   shouts   of   the 
young  sailors,  as  they  handled  their  instruments  of  death,  155 
became   more    animated  and   fierce,   while   the   cockswain 
pursued  his  occupation  with  the  silence  and  skill  of   one 
who  labored  in  a  regular  vocation.     Barnstable  was  unusu 
ally  composed  and  quiet,  maintaining  the  grave  deportment 
of  a  commander  on  whom  rested  the  fortunes  of  the  con- 160 
test,  at  the  same  time  that  his  dark  eyes  were  dancing  with 
the  fire  of  suppressed  animation. 

"  Give  it  them  ! "  he  occasionally  cried,  in  a  voice  that 
might  be  heard  amid  the  bellowing  of  the  cannon ;  "  never 


108  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

165  mind  their  cordage,  my  lads ;  drive  home  their  bolts,  and 
make  your  marks  below  their  ridge-ropes." 

In  the  meantime  the  Englishman  played  a  manful  game. 
He  had  suffered  a  heavy  loss  by  the  distant  cannonade, 
which  no  metal  he  possessed  could  retort  upon  his  enemy ; 

170  but  he  struggled  nobly  to  repair  the  error  in  judgment  with 
which  he  had  begun  the  contest.  The  two  vessels  gradu 
ally  drew  nigher  to  each  other,  until  they  both  entered  into 
the  common  cloud  created  by  their  fire,  which  thickened 
and  spread  around  them  in  such  a  manner  as  to  conceal 

175  their  dark  hulls  from  the  gaze  of  the  curious  and  interested 
spectators  on  the  cliffs.  The  heavy  reports  of  the  cannon 
were  now  mingled  with  the  rattling  of  muskets  and  pistols, 
and  streaks  of  fire  might  be  seen  glancing  like  flashes  of 
lightning  through  the  white  cloud  which  enshrouded  the 

180  combatants ;  and  many  minutes  of  painful  uncertainty 
followed,  before  the  deeply  interested  soldiers,  who  were 
gazing  at  the  scene,  discovered  on  whose  banners  victory 
had  alighted. 

We  shall  follow  the  combatants  into  their  misty  wreath, 

185  and  display  to  the  reader  the  events  as  they  occurred. 

The  fire  of  the  Ariel  was  much  the  most  quick  and 
deadly,  both  because  she  had  suffered  less,  and  her  men 
were  less  exhausted  ;  and  the  cutter  stood  desperately  on 
to  decide  the  combat,  after  grappling,  hand  to  hand.  Barn- 

190  stable  anticipated  her  intention,  and  well  understood  her 
commander's  reason  for  adopting  this  course ;  but  he  was 
not  a  man  to  calculate  coolly  his  advantages,  when  pride 
and  daring  invited  him  to  a  more  severe  trial.  Accord 
ingly,  he  met  the  enemy  halfway,  and  as  the  vessels  rushed 

195  together,  the  stern  of  the  schooner  was  secured  to  the  bows 
of  the  cutter,  by  the  joint  efforts  of  both  parties.  The 
voice  of  the  English  commander  was  now  plainly  to  be 
heard,  in  the  uproar,  calling  to  his  men  to  follow  him. 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  109 

"  Away  there,  boarders !  repel  boarders  on  the  starboard 
quarter  !  "  shouted  Barnstable  through  his  trumpet.  200 

This  was  the  last  order  that  the  gallant  young  sailor  gave 
with  this  instrument ;  for,  as  he  spoke,  he  cast  it  from  him, 
and,  seizing  his  sabre,  flew  to  the  spot  where  the  enemy 
was  about  to  make  his  most  desperate  effort.  The  shouts, 
execrations,  and  tauntings  of  the  combatants,  now  succeeded  205 
to  the  roar  of  the  cannon,  which  could  be  used  no  longer 
with  effect,  though  the  fight  was  still  maintained  with 
spirited  discharges  of  the  small  arms. 

u  Sweep  him  from  his  decks ! "  cried  the  English  com 
mander,  as  he  appeared  on  his  own  bulwarks,  surrounded  210 
by  a  dozen  of  his  bravest  men ;  "  drive  the  rebellious  dogs 
into  the  sea ! " 

"  Away  there,  marines !  "  retorted  Barnstable,  firing  his 
pistol  at  the  advancing  enemy ;  "  leave  not  a  man  of  them 
to  sup  his  grog  again/"  215 

The  tremendous  and  close  volley  that  succeeded  this 
order,  nearly  accomplished  the  command  of  Barnstable  to 
the  letter,  and  the  commander  of  the  Alacrity,  perceiving 
that  he  stood  alone,  reluctantly  fell  back  on  the  deck  of  his 
own  vessel,  in  order  to  bring  on  his  men  once  more.  220 

"  Board  her !  gray-beards  and  boys,  idlers  and  all ! " 
shouted  Barnstable,  springing  in  advance  of  his  crew ;  a 
powerful  arm  arrested  the  movement  of  the  dauntless  sea 
man,  and  before  he  had  time  to  recover  himself,  he  was 
drawn  violently  back  to  his  own  vessel  by  the  irresistible  225 
grasp  of  his  cockswain. 

"  The  fellow's  in  his  flurry,'7  said  Tom,  "  and  it  wouldn't 
be  wise  to  go  within  reach  of  his  flukes;  but  I'll  just  step 
ahead  and  give  him  a  set  with  my  harpoon." 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  the  cockswain  reared  his  230 
tall  frame  on  the  bulwarks,  and  was  in  the  attitude  of  step 
ping  on   board  of   his  enemy,  when  a  sea  separated  the 


110  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

vessels,  and  he  fell  with  a  heavy  dash  of  the  waters  into 
the  ocean.     As  twenty  muskets  and  pistols  were  discharged 

235  at  the  instant  he  appeared,  the  crew  of  the  Ariel  supposed 
his  fall  to  be  occasioned  by  his  wounds,  and  were  rendered 
doubly  fierce  by  the  sight,  and  the  cry  of  their  commander 
to  — 

"  Revenge  long  Tom  !  board  her  !  long  Tom  or  death !  " 

240  They  threw  themselves  forward  in  irresistible  numbers, 
and  forced  a  passage,  with  much  bloodshed,  to  the  fore 
castle  of  the  Alacrity.  The  Englishman  was  overpowered, 
but  still  remained  undaunted  —  he  rallied  his  crew,  and 
bore  up  most  gallantly  to  the  fray.  Thrusts  of  pikes  and 

245  blows  of  sabres  were  becoming  close  and  deadly,  while 
muskets  and  pistols  were  constantly  discharged  by  those 
who  were  kept  at  a  distance  by  the  pressure  of  the  throng 
of  closer  combatants. 

Barnstable  led  his  men  in  advance,  and  became  a  mark 

250  of  peculiar  vengeance  to  his  enemies,  as  they  slowly  yielded 
before  his  vigorous  assaults.  Chance  had  placed  the  two 
commanders  on  opposite  sides  of  the  cutter's  deck,  and  the 
victory  seemed  to  incline  towards  either  party,  wherever 
these  daring  officers  directed  the  struggle  in  person.  But 

255  the  Englishman,  perceiving  that  the  ground  he  maintained 
in  person  was  lost  elsewhere,  made  an  effort  to  restore  the 
battle,  by  changing  his  position,  followed  by  one  or  two  of 
his  best  men.  A  marine,  who  preceded  him,  levelled  his 
musket  within  a  few  feet  of  the  head  of  the  American  com- 

260  mander,  and  was  about  to  fire,  when  Merry  glided  among 
the  combatants,  and  passed  his  dirk  into  the  body  of  the 
man,  who  fell  at  the  blow ;  shaking  his  piece,  with  horrid 
imprecations,  the  wounded  soldier  prepared  to  deal  his 
vengeance  on  his  youthful  assailant,  when  the  fearless  boy 

265  leaped  within  its  muzzle,  and  buried  his  own  keen  weapon 
in  his  heart. 


JAMES  FENIMORE   COOPER  111 

"  Hurrah ! "  shouted  the  unconscious  Barnstable,  from 
the  edge  of  the  quarter-deck,  where,  attended  by  a  few  men, 
he  was  driving  all  before  him.  "Revenge! — long  Tom 
and  victory  ! "  270 

"  We  have  them  !  "  exclaimed  the  Englishman ;  "  handle 
your  pikes !  we  have  them  between  two  fires." 

The  battle  would  probably  have  terminated  very  differ 
ently  from  what  previous  circumstances  had  indicated,  had 
not  a  wild  looking  figure  appeared  in  the  cutter's  channels  275 
at  that  moment,  issuing  from  the  sea,  and  gaining  the  deck 
at  the  same  instant.  It  was  long  Tom,  with  his  iron  visage 
rendered  fierce  by  his  previous  discomfiture,  and  his  grizzled 
locks  drenched  with  the  briny  element  from  which  he  had 
risen,  looking  like  Neptune  with  his  trident.  Without  280 
speaking,  he  poised  his  harpoon,  and,  with  a  powerful  effort, 
pinned  the  unfortunate  Englishman  to  the  mast  of  his  own 
vessel. 

"  Starn  all! "  cried  Tom  by  a  sort  of  instinct,  when  the  blow 
was   struck ;   and   catching   up   the   musket   of   the   fallen  285 
marine,  he  dealt  out  terrible  and  fatal  blows  with  its  butt, 
on  all  who  approached  him,  utterly  disregarding  the  use  of. 
the  bayonet  on  its  muzzle.     The  unfortunate  commander  of 
the  Alacrity   brandished  his  sword  with  frantic  gestures, 
while  his  eyes  rolled  in  horrid  wildness,  when  he  writhed  290 
for  an  instant  in  his  passing  agonies,  and  then,  as  his  head 
dropped  lifeless  upon  his  gored  breast,  he  hung  against  the 
spar,  a   spectacle   of  dismay  to  his  crew.     A  few  of  the 
Englishmen  stood  chained  to  the  spot  in  silent  horror  at  the 
sight,  but  most  of  them  fled  to  their  lower  deck,  or  hastened  295 
to  conceal  themselves  in  the  secret  parts  of  the  vessel,  leav 
ing  to   the   Americans   the   undisputed   possession  of  the 
Alacrity. 


112  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

FITZ-GREENE   HALLECK 
On  the  Death  of  Joseph  Rodman  Drake 

Green  be  the  turf  above  thee, 
Friend  of  my  better  days  ! 

None  knew  thee  but  to  love  thee, 
Nor  named  thee  but  to  praise. 

5  Tears  fell  when  thou  wert  dying, 

From  eyes  unused  to  weep, 
And  long,  where  thou  art  lying, 
Will  tears  the  cold  turf  steep.  - 

When  hearts,  whose  truth  was  proven, 
10  Like  thine,  are  laid  in  earth, 

There  should  a  wreath  be  woven 
To  tell  the  world  their  worth ; 

And  I  who  woke  each  morrow 
To  clasp  thy  hand  in  mine, 
15  Who  shared  thy  joy  and  sorrow, 

Whose  weal  and  woe  were  thine ; 

It  should  be  mine  to  braid  it 

Around  thy  faded  brow, 
But  I've  in  vain  essayed  it, 
20  And  feel  I  cannot  now. 

While  memory  bids  me  weep  thee, 
Nor  thoughts  nor  words  are  free,— 

The  grief  is  fixed  too  deeply 
That  mourns  a  man  like  thee. 


Marco  Bozzaris 

At  midnight,  in  his  guarded  tent, 
The  Turk  was  dreaming  of  the  hour 

When  Greece,  her  knee  in  suppliance  bent, 
Should  tremble  at  his  power. 


FITZ-GREENE   HALLECK  113 

In  dreams,  through  camp  and  court  he  bore  5 

The  trophies  of  a  conqueror ; 

In  dreams,  his  song  of  triumph  heard ; 
Then  wore  his  monarch's  signet-ring ; 
Then  pressed  that  monarch's  throne  —  a  king: 
As  wild  his  thoughts,  and  gay  of  wing,  10 

As  Eden's  garden-bird. 

At  midnight,  in  the  forest  shades, 

Bozzaris  ranged  his  Suliote  band, 
True  as  the  steel  of  their  tried  blades, 

Heroes  in  heart  and  hand.  15 

There  had  the  Persian's  thousands  stood, 
There  had  the  glad  earth  drunk  their  blood, 

On  old  Platsea's  day  : 

And  now  there  breathed  that  haunted  air, 
The  sons  of  sires  who  conquered  there,  20 

With  arms  to  strike,  and  soul  to  dare, 

As  quick,  as  far  as  they. 

An  hour  passed  on  — the  Turk  awoke  ; 

That  bright  dream  was  his  last : 

He  woke  —  to  hear  his  sentries  shriek,  25 

"  To  arms  !  they  come  !  the  Greek !  the  Greek !  " 
He  woke  —  to  die  midst  flame  and  smoke, 
And  shout  and  groan,  and  sabre-stroke, 

And  death-shots-falling  thick  and  fast 

As  lightnings  from  the  mountain-cloud ;  30 

And  heard,  with  voice  as  trumpet  loud, 

Bozzaris  cheer  his  band  : 
"  Strike  !  —  till  the  last  armed  foe  expires ; 
"  Strike !  —  for  your  altars  and  your  fires ; 
"  Strike !  —  for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires ;  35 

God  —  and  your  native  land  !  " 

They  fought  —  like  brave  men,  long  and  well ; 

They  piled  the  ground  with  Moslem  slain ; 
They  conquered  —  but  Bozzaris  fell, 

Bleeding  at  every  vein.  40 


114  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

His  few  surviving  comrades  saw 

His  smile,  when  rang  their  proud  —  "  hurrah/ 

And  the  red  field  was  won  : 
Then  saw  in  death  his  eyelids  close, 
45  Calmly,  as  to  a  night's  repose, 

Like  flowers  at  set  of  sun. 

Come  to  the  bridal-chamber,  Death  ; 

Come  to  the  mother's,  when  she  feels, 
For  the  first  time,  her  first-born's  breath ; 

50  Come  when  the  blessed  seals 

That  close  the  pestilence  are  broke, 
And  crowded  cities  wail  its  stroke ; 
Come  in  consumption's  ghastly  form, 
The  earthquake  shock,  the  ocean  storm ; 

55  Come  when  the  heart  beats  high  and  warm 

With  banquet-song,  and  dance,  and  wine ; 
And  thou  art  terrible  —  the  tear, 
The  groan,  the  knell,  the  pall,  the  bier, 
And  all  we  know,  or  dream,  or  fear 

60  Of  agony,  are  thine. 

But  to  the  hero,  when  his  sword 
Has  won  the  battle  for  the  free, 

Thy  voice  sounds  like  a  prophet's  word ; 

And  in  its  hollow  tones  are  heard 
65  The  thanks  of  millions  yet  to  be. 

Come,  when  his  task  of  fame  is  wrought  — 

Come,  with  her  laurel-leaf,  blood-bought  — 
Come  in  her  crowning  hour  —  and  then 

Thy  sunken  eye's  unearthly  light 
70  To  him  is  welcome  as  the  sight 

Of  sky  and  stars  to  prisoned  men ; 

Thy  grasp  is  welcome  as  the  hand 

Of  brother  in  a  foreign  land ; 

Thy  summons  welcome  as  the  cry 
75  That  told  the  Indian  isles  were  nigh 


FITZ-GREENE   HALLECK  115 

To  the  world-seeking  Genoese, 
When  the  land  wind,  from  woods  of  palm, 
And  orange  groves,  and  fields  of  balm, 

Blew  o'er  the  Haytian  seas.  , 

Bozzaris !  with  the  storied  brave  80 

Greece  nurtured  in  her  glory's  time, 
Rest  thee  —  there  is  no  prouder  grave, 

Even  in  her  own  proud  clime. 
She  wore  no  funeral- weeds  for  thee, 

Nor  bade  the  dark  hearse  wave  its  plume  85 

Like  torn  branch  from  death's  leafless  tree 
In  sorrow's  pomp  and  pageantry, 

The  heartless  luxury  of  the  tomb ; 

But  she  remembers  thee  as  one 

Long  loved  and  for  a  season  gone ;  90 

For  thee  her  poet's  lyre  is  wreathed, 

Her  marble  wrought,  her  music  breathed ; 

For  thee  she  rings  the  birthday  bells. 

Of  thee  her  babe's  first  lisping  tells ; 

For  thine  her  evening  prayer  is  said  95 

At  palace-couch  and  cottage-bed  ; 

Her  soldier,  closing  with  the  foe, 

Gives  for  thy  sake  a  deadlier  blow ; 

His  plighted  maiden,  when  she  fears 

For  him  the  joy  of  her  young  years,  100 

Thinks  of  thy  fate,  and  checks  her  tears ; 

And  she,  the  mother  of  thy  boys, 
Though  in  her  eye  and  faded  cheek 
Is  read  the  grief  she  will  not  speak, 

The  memory  of  her  buried  joys ;  105 

And  even  she  who  gave  thee  birth, 
Will,  by  her  pilgrim-circled  hearth. 

Talk  of  thy  doom  without  a  sigh ; 
For  thou  art  Freedom's  now,  and  Fame's : 
One  of  the  few,  the  immortal  names,  110 

That  were  not  born  to  die. 


116  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

JOSEPH  RODMAN   DRAKE 
The  American  Flag 

When  Freedom  from  her  mountain  height 

Unfurled  her  standard  to  the  air, 
She  tore  the  azure  robe  of  night, 

And  set  the  stars  of  glory  there. 
5  She  mingled  with  its  gorgeous  dyes 

The  milky  baldric  of  the  skies, 
And  striped  its  pure  celestial  white 
With  streakings  of  the  morning  light ; 
Then  from  his  mansion  in  the  sun 
10  She  called  her  eagle  bearer  down, 

And  gave  into  his  mighty  hand 
The  symbol  of  her  chosen  land. 

Majestic  monarch  of  the  cloud, 
Who  rear'st  aloft  thy  regal  form, 

15  To  hear  the  tempest  trumpings  loud 

And  see  the  lightning  lances  driven, 

When  strive  the  warriors  of  the  storm, 
And  rolls  the  thunder  drum  of  heaven, 
Child  of  the  sun  !  to  thee  'tis  given 

20  To  guard  the  banner  of  the  free, 

To  hover  in  the  sulphur  smoke, 
To  ward  away  the  battle  stroke, 
And  bid  its  blendings  shine  afar, 
Like  rainbows  on  the  cloud  of  war, 

25  The  harbingers  of  victory  1 

Flag  of  the  brave !  thy  folds  shall  fly, 
The  sign  of  hope  and  triumph  high, 
When  speaks  the  signal  trumpet  tone, 
And  the  long  line  comes  gleaming  on. 
30  Ere  yet  the  life  blood,  warm  and  wet, 

Has  dimmed  the  glistening  bayonet, 


JOSEPH   RODMAN   DRAKE  117 

Each  soldier  eye  shall  brightly  turn 

To  where  thy  sky-born  glories  burn, 

And,  as  his  springing  steps  advance, 

Catch  war  and  vengeance  from  the  glance.  35 

And  when  the  cannon  mouthings  loud 

Heave  in  wild  wreaths  the  battle  shroud, 

And  gory  sabers  rise  arid  fall 

Like  shoots  of  flame  on  midnight's  pall, 

Then  shall  thy  meteor  glances  glow,  40 

And  cowering  foes  shall  shrink  beneath 

Each  gallant  arm  that  strikes  below 
That  lovely  messenger  of  death. 

Flag  of  the  seas  !  on  ocean  wave 

Thy  stars  shall  glitter  o'er  the  brave ;  45 

When  death,  careering  on  the  gale, 

Sweeps  darkly  round  the  bellied  sail, 

And  frighted  waves  rush  wildly  back 

Before  the  broadside's  reeling  rack, 

Each  dying  wanderer  of  the  sea  50 

Shall  look  at  once  to  heaven  and  thee, 

And  smile  to  see  thy  splendors  fly 

In  triumph  o'er  his  closing  eye. 

Flag  of  the  free  heart's  hope  and  home  I 

By  angel  hands  to  valor  given  ;  55 

Thy  stars  have  lit  the  welkin  dome, 

And  all  thy  hues  were  born  in  heaven. 
Forever  float  that  standard  sheet ! 

Where  breathes  the  foe  but  falls  before  us, 
With  Freedom's  soil  beneath  our  feet,  60 

And  Freedom's  banner  streaming  o'er  us? 


118  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

JOHN    C.    CALHOUN 

The  Real  Character  of  the  Union 

(From  On  Nullification) 

Notwithstanding  all  that  has  been  said,  I  may  say  that 
neither  the  Senator  from  Delaware  (Mr.  Clayton),  nor  any 
other  who  has  spoken  on  the  same  side,  has  directly  and 
fairly  met  the  great  question  at  issue:  Is  this  a  Fed- 
5  eral  Union  ?  a  union  of  States,  as  distinct  from  that  of  in 
dividuals  ?  Is  the  sovereignty  in  the  several  States,  or  in 
the  American  people  in  the  aggregate  ?  The  very  language 
which  we  are  compelled  to  use  when  speaking  of  our  politi 
cal  institutions  affords  proof  conclusive  as  to  its  real 

10  character.  The  terms  union,  federal,  united,  all  imply  a 
combination  of  sovereignties,  a  confederation  of  States. 
They  never  apply  to  an  association  of  individuals.  Who 
ever  heard  of  the  United  State  of  New  York,  of  Massachu 
setts,  or  of  Virginia  ?  Who  ever  heard  the  term  federal  or 

15  union  applied  to  the  aggregation  of  individuals  into  one 
community  ?  Nor  is  the  other  point  less  clear  —  that  the 
sovereignty  is  in  the  several  States,  and  that  our  system  is 
a  union  of  twenty-four  sovereign  powers,  under  a  constitu 
tional  compact,  and  not  of  a  divided  sovereignty  between  the 

20  States  severally  and  the  United  States.  In  spite  of  all  that  has 
been  said,  I  maintain  that  sovereignty  is  in  its  nature  indi 
visible.  It  is  the  supreme  power  in  a  State,  and  we  might 
just  as  well  speak  of  half  a  square,  or  half  of  a  triangle,  as 
of  half  a  sovereignty.  It  is  a  gross  error  to  confound  the 

25  exercise  of  sovereign  powers  with  sovereignty  itself,  or  the 
delegation  of  such  powers  with  the  surrender  of  them.  A 
sovereign  may  delegate  his  powers  to  be  exercised  by  as 
many  agents  as  he  may  think  proper,  under  such  conditions 
and  with  such  limitations  as  he  may  impose ;  but  to  sur- 


JOHN   C.   CALHOUN  119 

render  any  portion  of  his  sovereignty  to  another  is  to  an- 30 
nihilate  the  whole.     The  Senator ,  from  Delaware  calls  this 
metaphysical  reasoning,  which  he  says  he  cannot  comprehend. 
If  by  metaphysics  he  means  that  scholastic  refinement  which 
makes  distinctions  without  difference,  no  one  can  hold  it  in 
more  utter  contempt  than  I  do ;  but  if,  on  the  contrary,  he  35 
means  the  power  of  analysis  and  combination  —  that  power 
which   reduces   the   most  complex  idea  into  its  elements, 
which   traces   causes   to  their   first  principle,   and,  by  the 
power  of  generalization  and  combination,  unites  the  whole 
in  one  system  —  then,  so  far  from  deserving  contempt,  it  is  40 
the  highest  attribute  of  the  human  mind.     It  is  the  power 
which  raises  man  above  the  brute  —  which  distinguishes  his 
faculties  from  mere  sagacity,  which   he  holds  in  common 
with  the  inferior  animals.     It  is  the  power  which  has  raised 
the  astronomer  from  being  a  mere  gazer  at  the  stars  to  the  high  45 
intellectual  eminence  of  a  Newton  or  a  Laplace,  and  astron 
omy  itself  from  a  mere  observation  of  isolated  facts  into  that 
noble  science  which  displays  to  our  admiration  the  system  of 
the  universe.     And  shall  this  high  power  of  the  mind,  which 
has  effected  such  wonders  when  directed  to  the  laws  which  50 
control  the  material  world,  be  forever  prohibited,  under  a 
senseless  cry  of  metaphysics,  from  being  applied  to  the  high 
purposes  of  political  science  and  legislation  ?     I  hold  them 
to  be  subject  to  laws  as  fixed  as  matter  itself,  and  to  be  as 
fit  a  subject  for  the  application  of  the  highest  intellectual  55 
power.     Denunciation  may,  indeed,  fall  upon  the  philosophi 
cal  inquirer  into  these  first  principles,  as  it  did  upon  Galileo 
and  Bacon,  when  they  first  unfolded  the  great  discoveries 
which  have  immortalized  their  names;   but  the  time  will 
come  when  truth  will  prevail  in  spite  of  prejudice  and  de-60 
nunciation,  and  when  politics  and  legislation  will  be  consid 
ered  as  much  a  science  as  astronomy  and  chemistry. 

In  connection  with  this  part  of  the  subject,  I  understood 


120  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

the  senator  from  Virginia  (Mr.    Rives)   to   say  that  sov- 

65  ereignty  was  divided,  and  that  a  portion  remained  with 
the  States  severally,  and  that  the  residue  was  vested  in  the 
Union.  By  Union,  I  suppose  the  senator  meant  the  United 
States.  If  such  be  his  meaning  —  if  he  intended  that  the 
sovereignty  was  in  the  twenty-four  States,  in  whatever 

70  light  he  may  view  them,  our  opinions  will  not  Disagree; 
but,  according  to  my  conception,  the  whole  sovereignty  is  in 
the  several  States,  while  the  exercise  of  sovereign  powers  is 
divided  —  a  part  being  exercised  under  compact,  through 
this  general  government,  and  the  residue  through  the  sepa- 

75  rate  State  governments.  But  if  the  senator  from  Virginia 
(Mr.  Rives)  means  to  assert  that  the  twenty-four  States 
form  but  one  community,  with  a  single  sovereign  power  as 
to  the  objects  of  the  Union,  it  will  be  but  a  revival  of  the 
old  question,  of  whether  the  Union  is  a  union  between 

80  States,  as  distinct  communities,  or  a  mere  aggregate  of  the 
American  people,  as  a  mass  of  individuals ;  and  in  this 
light  his  opinions  would  lead  directly  to  consolidation. 

DANIEL  WEBSTER 

On  the  Language  of  Calhoun's  Resolutions 
(From  The  Constitution  Not  a  Compact) 

The  first  two  resolutions  of  the  honorable  member  affirm 
these  propositions,  viz. :  — 

1.  That  the  political  system  under  which  we  live,  and 
under  which  Congress  is  now  assembled,  is  a  compact,  to 

5  which  the  people  of  the  several  States,  as  separate  and  sov 
ereign  communities,  are  the  parties. 

2.  That  these  sovereign  parties  have  a  right  to  judge, 
each  for  itself,  of  any  alleged  violation  of  the  Constitution 
by  Congress ;  and,  in  case  of  such  violation,  to  choose,  each 

10  for  itself,  its  own  mode  and  measure  of  redress. 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  121 

It  is  true,  Sir,  that  the  honorable  member  calls  this  a 
"constitutional"  compact;  but  still  he  affirms  it  to  be  a 
compact  between  sovereign  States.  What  precise  meaning, 
then,  does  he  attach  to  the  term  constitution?  When  ap 
plied  to  compact  between  sovereign  States,  the  term  consti- 15 
tutional  affixes  to  the  word  compact  no  definite  idea.  Were 
we  to  hear  of  a  constitutional  league  or  treaty  between 
England  and  France,  or  a  constitutional  convention  between 
Austria  and  Russia,  we  should  not  understand  what  could 
be  intended  by  such  a  league,  such  a  treaty,  or  such  a  con-  20 
vention.  In  these  connections,  the  word  is  void- of  all 
meaning;  and  yet,  Sir,  it  is  easy,  quite  easy,  to  see  why 
the  honorable  gentleman  has  used  it  in  these  resolutions. 
He  cannot  open  the  book,  and  look  upon  our  written  frame 
of  government,  without  seeing  that  it  is  called  a  constitution.  25 
This  may  well  be  appalling  to  him.  It  threatens  his  whole 
doctrine  of  compact,  and  its  darling  derivatives,  nullifica 
tion  and  secession,  with  instant  confutation.  Because,  if 
he  admits  our  instrument  of  government  to  be  a  constitution, 
then,  for  that  very  reason,  it  is  not  a  compact  between  30 
sovereigns ;  a  constitution  of  government  and  a  compact 
between  sovereign  powers  being  things  essentially  unlike  in 
their  very  natures,  arid  incapable  of  ever  being  the  same. 
Yet  the  word  constitution  is  on  the  very  front  of  the  instru 
ment.  He  cannot  overlook  it.  He  seeks,  therefore,  to  35 
compromise  the  matter,  and  to  sink  all  the  substantial 
sense  of  the  word,  while  he  retains  a  resemblance  of  its 
sound.  He  introduces  a  new  word  of  his  own,  viz.  compact, 
as  importing  the  principal  idea,  and  designed  to  play  the 
principal  part,  and  degrades  constitution  into  an  insignificant,  40 
idle  epithet,  attached  to  compact.  The  whole  then  stands 
as  a  "constitutional  compact!"  And  in  this  way  he  hopes 
to  pass  off  a  plausible  gloss,  as  satisfying  the  words  of  the 
instrument.  But  he  will  find  himself  disappointed.  Sir,  I 


122  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

45  must  say  to  the  honorable  gentleman,  that,  in  our  American 
political  grammar,  CONSTITUTION  is  a  noun  substantive  ; 
it  imports  a  distinct  and  clear  idea  of  itself;  and  it  is  not 
to  lose  its  importance  and  dignity,  it  is  not  to  be  turned 
into  a  poor,  ambiguous,  senseless,  unmeaning  adjective,  for 

50  the  purpose  of  accommodating  any  new  set  of  political 
notions.  Sir,  we  reject  his  new  rules  of  syntax  altogether. 
We  will  not  give  up  our  forms  of  political  speech  to  the 
grammarians  of  the  school  of  nullification.  By  the  Con 
stitution,  we  mean,  not  a  "constitutional  compact,"  but, 

55  simply  and  directly,  the  Constitution,  the  fundamental  law ; 
and  if  there  be  one  word  in  the  language  which  the  people 
of  the  United  States  understand,  this  is  that  word.  We 
know  no  more  of  a  constitutional  compact  between  sovereign 
powers,  than  we  know  of  a  constitutional  indenture  of  co- 

60  partnership,  a  constitutional  deed  of  conveyance,  or  a  con 
stitutional  bill  of  exchange.  But  we  know  what  the  Con 
stitution  is ;  we  know  what  the  plainly  written  fundamental 
law  is ;  we  know  what  the  bond  of  our  Union  and  the 
security  of  our  liberties  is ;  and  we  mean  to  maintain  and 

65  to  defend  it,  in  its  plain  sense  and  unsophisticated 
meaning. 

The  sense  of  the  gentleman's  proposition,  therefore,  is 
not  at  all  affected,  one  way  or  the  other,  by  the  use  of  this 
word.  That  proposition  still  is,  that  our  system  of  govern- 

70  ment  is  but  a  compact  between  the  people  of  separate  and 
sovereign  States. 

Was  it  Mirabeau,  Mr.  President,  or  some  other  master  of 
the  human  passions,  who  has  told  us  that  words  are  things  ? 
They  are  indeed  things,  and  things  of  mighty  influence,  not 

75  only  in  addresses  to  the  passions  and  high-wrought  feelings 
of  mankind,  but  in  the  discussion  of  legal  and  political 
questions  also ;  because  a  just  conclusion  is  often  avoided, 
or  a  false  one  reached,  by  the  adroit  substitution  of  one 


DANIEL   WEBSTER  123 

phrase,  or  one  word,  for  another.     Of  this  we  have,  I  think, 
another  example  in  the  resolutions  before  us.  80 

The  first  resolution  declares  that  the  people  of  the  sev 
eral  States  "  acceded  "  to  the  Constitution,  or  to  the  consti 
tutional  compact,  as  it  is  called.  This  word  "  accede,"  not 
found  either  in  the  Constitution  itself,  or  in  the  ratification 
of  it  by  any  one  of  the  States,  has  been  chosen  for  use  here,  85 
doubtless,  not  without  a  well-considered  purpose. 

The  natural  converse  of  accession  is  secession;  and,  there 
fore,  when  it  is  stated  that  the  people  of  the  States  acceded 
to  the  Union,  it  may  be  more  plausibly  argued  that  they 
may  secede  from  it.     If,  in  adopting  the  Constitution,  noth-90 
ing  was  done  but  acceding  to   a  compact,  nothing  would 
seem  necessary,  in  order  to  break  it  up,  but  to  secede  from 
the  same  compact.     But  the  term  is  wholly  out  of  place. 
Accession,  as  a  word  applied  to  political  associations,  im 
plies  coming  into  a  league,  treaty,  or  confederacy,  by  one  95 
hitherto  a  stranger  to  it;  and  secession  implies  departing 
from  such  league  or  confederacy.     The  people  of  the  United 
States  have  used  no  such  form  of  expression  in  establishing 
the  present  government.     They  do  not  say  that  they  accede 
to  a  league,  but  they  declare  that  they  ordain  and  establish  100 
a  Constitution.     Such  are  the  very  words  of  the  instrument 
itself;    and  in  all  the   States,  without  an   exception,  the 
language  used  by  their  conventions  was,  that  they  "  ratified 
the  Constitution " ;  some  of  them  employing  the  additional 
words  "  assented  to  "  and  "  adopted,"  but  all  of  them  "  rati- 105 
fying." 

There  is  more  importance  than  may,  at  first  sight,  appear, 
in  the  introduction  of  this  new  word,  by  the  honorable 
mover  of  these  resolutions.  Its  adoption  and  use  are  indis 
pensable  to  maintain  those  premises  from  which  his  main  no 
conclusion  is  to  be  afterwards  drawn.  But  before  showing 
that,  allow  me  to  remark,  that  this  phraseology  tends  to 


124  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

keep  out  of  sight  the  just  view  of  a  previous  political  his 
tory,  as  well  as  to  suggest  wrong  ideas  as  to  what  was 

115  actually  done  when  the  present  Constitution  was  agreed  to. 
In  1789,  and  before  this  Constitution  was  adopted,  the 
United  States  had  already  been  in  a  union,  more  or  less 
close,  for  fifteen  years.  At  least  as  far  back  as  the  meeting 
of  the  first  Congress,  in  1774,  they  had  been  in  some 

120  measure,  and  for  some  national  purposes,  united  together. 
Before  the  Confederation  of  1781,  they  had  declared 
independence  jointly,  and  had  carried  on  the  war  jointly, 
both  by  sea  and  land ;  and  this  not  as  separate  States,  but 
as  one  people.  When,  therefore,  they  formed  that  Con- 

125  federation,  and  adopted  its  articles  as  articles  of  perpetual 
union,  they  did  not  come  together  for  the  first  time ;  and 
therefore  they  did  not  speak  of  the  States  as  acceding  to  the 
Confederation,  although  it  was  a  league,  and  nothing  but  a 
league,  and  rested  on  nothing  but  plighted  faith  for  its  per- 

130  f ormance.  Yet,  even  then,  the  States  were  not  strangers  to 
each  other ;  there  was  a  bond  of  union  already  subsisting 
between  them ;  they  were  associated,  united  States ;  and 
the  object  of  the  Confederation  was  to  make  a  stronger  and 
better  bond  of  union.  Their  representatives  deliberated  to- 

135  gether  on  these  proposed  Articles  of  Confederation,  and  be 
ing  authorized  by  their  respective  States,  finally  "  ratified 
and  confirmed"  them.  Inasmuch  as  they  were  already  in 
union,  they  did  not  speak  of  acceding  to  the  new  Articles  of 
Confederation,  but  of  ratifying  and  confirming  them ;  and 

140  this  language  was  not  used  inadvertently,  because,  in  the 
same  instrument,  accession  is  used  in  its  proper  sense,  when 
applied  to  Canada,  which  was  altogether  a  stranger  to  the 
existing  union.  "Canada,"  says  the  eleventh  article,  "ac 
ceding  to  the  Confederation,  and  joining  in  the  measures  of 

145  the  United  States,  shall  be  admitted  into  the  Union." 

Having  thus  used  the  terms  ratify  and  confirm,  even  in 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  125 

regard  to  the  old  Confederation,  it  would  have  been  strange 
indeed,  if  the  people  of  the  United  States,  after  its  forma 
tion,  and  when  they  came  to  establish  the  present  Constitu 
tion,  had  spoken  of  the  States,  or  the  people  of  the  States,  150 
as   acceding  to    this   Constitution.     Such  language   would 
have  been  ill-suited  to  the  occasion.     It  would  have  implied 
an  existing  separation  or  disunion  among  the  States,  such 
as  never  has  existed  since  1774.     No  such  language,  there 
fore,  was  used.     The  language  actually  employed  is,  adopt,  155 
ratify ,  establish,  ordain. 

Therefore,  Sir,  since  any  State,  before  she  can  prove  her 
right  to  dissolve  the  Union,  must  show  her  authority  to 
undo  what  has  been  done,  no  State  is  at  liberty  to  secede,  on 
the  ground  that  she  and  other  States  have  done  nothing  but  160 
accede.  She  must  show  that  she  has  a  right  to  reverse  what 
has  been  ordained,  to  unsettle  and  overthrow  what  has  been 
established,  to  reject  what  the  people  have  adopted,  and  to 
break  up  what  they  have  ratified;  because  these  are  the 
terms  which  express  the  transactions  which  have  actually  165 
taken  place.  In  other  words,  she  must  show  her  right  to 
make  a  revolution. 


ABRAHAM   LINCOLN 
"Showing  His  Hand" 

(A  Letter  to  the  Sangamon  Journal) 

NEW  SALEM,  June  13,  1836. 

To  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  Journal:  In  your  paper  of  last 
Saturday  I   see   a   communication,  over   the   signature   of 
"  Many  voters,"  in  which  the  candidates  who  are  announced 
in  the  Journal  are   called   upon  to   "  show   their   hands."  5 
Agreed.     Here's  mine. 

I  go  for  all  sharing  the  privileges  of  the  government  who 


126  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

assist  in  bearing  its  burdens.     Consequently,  I  go  for  ad 
mitting  all  whites  to  the  right  of  suffrage  who  pay  taxes  or 
10  bear  arms  (by  no  means  excluding  females). 

If  elected,  I  shall  consider  the  whole  people  of  Sangamon 
my  constituents,  as  well  those  that  oppose  as  those  that 
support  me. 

While  acting  as  their  representative,  I  shall  be  governed 
15  by  their  will  on  all  subjects  upon  which  I  have  the  means  of 
knowing  what  their  will  is ;  and  upon  all  others  I  shall  do 
what  my  own  judgment  teaches  me  will  best  advance  their 
interests.     Whether  elected  or  not,  I  go  for  distributing  the 
proceeds  of  the  sales  of  the  public  lands  to  the  several  States, 
20  to  enable  our  State,  in  common  with  others,  to  dig  canals 
and  construct  railroads  without  borrowing  money  and  pay 
ing  the  interest  on  it. 

If  alive  on  the  first  Monday  in  November,  I  shall  vote  for 
Hugh  L.  White  for  President. 

A.  LINCOLN. 


Speech  on  Leaving  Springfield  in  1861 

MY  FRIENDS  :  No  one,  not  in  my  situation,  can  appreciate 
my  feeling  of  sadness  at  this  parting.  To  this  place,  and 
the  kindness  of  these  people,  I  owe  everything.  Here  I 
have  lived  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  have  passed  from  a 

5  young  to  an  old  man.  Here  my  children  have  been  born, 
and  one  is  buried.  I  now  leave,  not  knowing  when  or 
whether  ever  I  may  return,  with  a  task  before  me  greater 
than  that  which  rested  upon  Washington.  Without  the 
assistance  of  that  Divine  Being  who  ever  attended  him,  I 

10  cannot  succeed.  With  that  assistance,  1  cannot  fail.  Trust 
ing  in  him  who  can  go  with  me,  and  remain  with  you,  and 
be  everywhere  for  good,  let  us  confidently  hope  that  all  will 
yet  be  well.  To  his  care  commending  you,  as  I  hope 


ABRAHAM   LINCOLN  127 

in  your  prayers  you  will  commend  me,  I  bid  you  an  affec 
tionate  farewell.  15 

Lincoln's  Shortest  Speech 
(Address  at  Utica,  New  York,  February  18,  1861) 

LADIES  AND  GENTLEMEN  :  I  have  no  speech  to  make  to 
you,  and  no  time  to  speak  in.  I  appear  before  you  that  I 
may  see  you,  and  that  you  may  see  me ;  and  I  am  willing 
to  admit,  that  so  far  as  the  ladies  are  concerned,  I  have  the 
best  of  the  bargain,  though  I  wish  it  to  be  understood  that  5 
I  do  not  make  the  same  acknowledgment  concerning  the  men. 

(From  the  First  Inaugural) 

In  your  hands,  my  dissatisfied  fellow-countrymen,  and  not 
in  mine,  is  the  momentous  issue  of  civil  war.  The  Govern 
ment  will  not  assail  you.  You  can  have  no  conflict,  without 
being  yourselves  the  aggressors.  You  have  no  oath  regis 
tered  in  Heaven  to  destroy  the  government,  while  /  shall  5 
have  the  most  solemn  one  to  "preserve,  protect,  and  de 
fend  it." 

I  am  loath  to  close.  We  are  not  enemies,  but  friends. 
We  must  not  be  enemies.  Though  passion  may  have 
strained,  it  must  not  break  our  bonds  of  affection.  The  10 
mystic  chords  of  memory,  stretching  from  every  battlefield 
and  patriot  grave,  to  every  living  heart  and  hearth-stone,  all 
over  this  broad  land,  will  yet  swell  the  chorus  of  the  Union, 
when  again  touched,  as  surely  they  will  be,  by  the  better 
angels  of  our  nature.  15 

The  Gettysburg  Address 

Fourscore  and  seven  years  ago,  our  fathers  brought  forth 
upon  this  continent  a  new  nation,  conceived  in  liberty,  and 
dedicated  to  the  proposition  that  all  men  are  created  equal. 


128  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Now  we  are  engaged  in  a  great  civil  war,  testing  whether  that 
5  nation,  or  any  nation  so  conceived  and  so  dedicated,  can 
long  endure.  We  are  met  on  a  great  battle-field  of  that 
war.  We  have  come  to  dedicate  a  portion  of  that  field  as  a 
final  resting-place  for  those  who  here  gave  their  lives  that 
the  nation  might  live.  It  is  altogether  fitting  and  proper 

10  that  we  should  do  this.  But  in  a  larger  sense  we  cannot 
dedicate,  we  cannot  consecrate,  we  cannot  hallow  this 
ground.  The  brave  men,  living  and  dead,  who  struggled 
here,  have  consecrated  it  far  above  our  power  to  add  or  de 
tract.  The  world  will  little  note,  nor  long  remember,  what 

15  we  say  here,  but  it  can  never  forget  what  they  did  here.  It 
is  for  us,  the  living,  rather  to  be  dedicated  here  to  the  un 
finished  work  which  they  who  fought  here  have  thus  so  far 
nobly  advanced.  It  is  rather  for  us  to  be  here  dedicated 
to  the  great  task  remaining  before  us, — that  from  these 

20  honored  dead  we  take  increased  devotion  to  that  cause  for 
which  they  gave  the  last  full  measure  of  devotion,  —  that  we 
here  highly  resolve  that  these  dead  shall  not  have  died  in  vain, 
—  that  this  nation,  under  God,  shall  have  a  new  birth  of 
freedom,  —  and  that  government  of  the  people,  by  the 

25  people,  for  the  people,  shall  not  perish  from  the  earth. 

Letter  to  Mrs.  Bixby 

WASHINGTON,  November  21,  1864. 

DEAR  MADAM:  I  have  been  shown  in  the  files  of  the 
War  Department  a  statement  of  the  Adjutant-General  of 
Massachusetts  that  you  are  the  mother  of  five  sons  who 
5  have  died  gloriously  on  the  field  of  battle.  I  feel  how  weak 
and  fruitless  must  be  any  words  of  mine  which  should 
attempt  to  beguile  you  from  the  grief  of  a  loss  so  over 
whelming.  But  I  cannot  refrain  from  tendering  to  you 
the  consolation  that  may  be  found  in  the  thanks  of  the 


HENRY  TIMROD  129 

Republic   they   died   to   save.     I   pray  that  our   heavenly  10 
Father  may  assuage  the  anguish  of  your  bereavement,  and 
leave  you  only  the  cherished  memory  of  the  loved  and  lost, 
and  the  solemn  pride  that  must  be  yours  to  have  laid  so 
costly  a  sacrifice  upon  the  altar  of  freedom. 

HENRY  TIMROD  i 
A  Cry  to  Arms 

Ho !  woodsmen  of  the  mountain  side ! 

Ho  !  dwellers  in  the  vales ! 
Ho !  ye  who  by  the  chafing  tide 

Have  roughened  in  the  gales  ! 
Leave  barn  and  byre,  leave  kin  and  cot,  5 

Lay  by  the  bloodless  spade ; 
Let  desk,  and  case,  and  counter  rot, 

And  burn  your  books  of  trade. 

The  despot  roves  your  fairest  lands ; 

And  till  he  flies  or  fears,  10 

Your  fields  must  grow  but  armed  bands, 

Your  sheaves  be  sheaves  of  spears ! 
Give  up  to  mildew  and  to  rust 

The  useless  tools  of  gain  ; 
And  feed  your  country's  sacred  dust  15 

With  floods  of  crimson  rain ! 

Come,  with  the  weapons  at  your  call  — 

With  musket,  pike,  or  knife ; 
He  wields  the  deadliest  blade  of  all 

Who  lightest  holds  his  life.  20 

The  arm  that  drives  its  unbought  blows 

With  all  a  patriot's  scorn, 
Might  brain  a  tyrant  with  a  rose, 

Or  stab  him  with  a  thorn. 

1  The  poems  by  Henry  Timrod  included  in  this  book  are  used  by  special 
permission  of  the  B.  F.  Johnson  Publishing  Co.,  Richmond,  Va.,  the 
authorized  publishers  of  his  works. 


130  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

25  Does  any  falter?  let  him  turn 

To  some  brave  maiden's  eyes, 
And  catch  the  holy  fires  that  burn 

In  those  sublunar  skies. 
Oh  !  could  you  like  your  women  feel, 
30  And  in  their  spirit  march, 

A  day  might  see  your  lines  of  steel 
Beneath  the  victor's  arch. 

What  hope,  O  God  !  would  not  grow  warm 

When  thoughts  like  these  give  cheer? 
35  The  Lily  calmly  braves  the  storm, 

And  shall  the  Palm-tree  fear  ? 
No  !  rather  let  its  branches  court 
The  rack  that  sweeps  the  plain  ; 
And  from  the  Lily's  regal  port 
40  Learn  how  to  breast  the  strain  ! 

Ho!  woodsmen  of  the  mountain  side! 

Ho !  dwellers  in  the  vales  ! 
Ho  I  ye  who  by  the  roaring  tide 

Have  roughened  in  the  gales ! 
45  Come !  nocking  gayly  to  the  fight, 

From  forest,  hill,  and  lake  ; 
We  battle  for  our  Country's  right, 

And  for  the  Lily's  sake  I 

Ode 

(Sung  on  the  occasion  of  decorating  the  graves  of  the  Confederate  dead1 
at  Magnolia  Cemetery,  Charleston,  S.C.,  1867) 

Sleep  sweetly  in  your  humble  graves, 

Sleep,  martyrs  of  a  fallen  cause  ; 
Though  yet  no  marble  column  craves 

The  pilgrim  here  to  pause. 

5      .  In  seeds  of  laurel  in  the  earth 

The  blossom  of  your  fame  is  blown, 
And  somewhere,  waiting  for  its  birth, 
The  shaft  is  in  the  stone ! 


HENRY  TIMROD  131 

Meanwhile,  behalf  the  tardy  years 

Which  keep  in  trust  your  storied  tombs,  IQ 

Behold!  your  sisters  bring  their  tears, 

And  these  memorial  blooms. 

Small  tributes !  but  your  shades  will  smile 

More  proudly  on  these  wreaths  to-day, 
Than  when  some  cannon-moulded  pile  15 

Shall  overlook  this  bay. 

Stoop,  angels,  hither  from  the  skies  ! 

There  is  no  holier  spot  of  ground 
Than  where  defeated  valor  lies, 

By  mourning  beauty  crowned  1  20 

Flower-Life 

I  think  that,  next  to  your  sweet  eyes, 
And  pleasant  books,  and  starry  skies, 

I  love  the  world  of  flowers ; 
Less  for  their  beauty  of  a  day, 

Than  for  the  tender  things  they  say,  5 

And  for  a  creed  I've  held  alway, 

That  they  are  sentient  powers. 

It  may  be  matter  for  a  smile  — 
And  I  laugh  secretly  the  while 

I  speak  the  fancy  out  —  10 

But  that  they  love,  and  that  they  woo, 
And  that  they  often  marry  too, 
And  do  as  noisier  creatures  do, 

I've  not  the  faintest  doubt. 

And  so,  I  cannot  deem  it  right  15 

To  take  them  from  the  glad  sunlight, 

As  I  have  sometimes  dared ; 
Though  not  witkout  an  anxious  sigh 
Lest  this  should  break  some  gentle  tie, 
Some  covenant  of  friendship,  I  20 

Had  better  far  have  spared. 


132  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And  when,  in  wild  or  thoughtless  hours, 
My  hand  hath  crushed  the  tiniest  flowers, 

I  ne'er  could  shut  from  sight 
25  The  corpses  of  the  tender  things, 

With  other  drear  imaginings, 
And  little  angel-flowers  with  wings 

Would  haunt  me  through  the  night. 

Oh !  say  you,  friend,  the  creed  is  fraught 
30  With  sad,  and  even  with  painful  thought 

Nor  could  you  bear  to  know 
That  such  capacities  belong 
To  creatures  helpless  against  wrong, 
At  once  too  weak  to  fly  the  strong 
35  Or  front  the  feeblest  foe  ? 

So  be  it  always,  then,  with  you; 
So  be  it  —  whether  false  or  true  — 

I  press  my  faith  on  none ; 
If  other  fancies  please  you  more, 
40  The  flowers  shall  blossom  as  before, 

Dear  as  the  Sibyl-leaves  of  yore, 

But  senseless,  every  one. 

Yet,  though  I  give  you  no  reply, 
It  were  not  hard  to  justify 
45  My  creed  to  partial  ears ; 

But,  conscious  of  the  cruel  part,     * 
My  rhymes  would  flow  with  faltering  art, 
I  could  not  plead  against  your  heart, 
Nor  reason  with  your  tears. 

Why  Silent 

Why  am  I  silent  from  year  to  year  ? 

Needs  must  I  sing  on  these  blue  March  days? 
What  will  you  say,  when  I  tell  you  here, 

That  already,  I  think,  for  a  little  praise, 
5  I  have  paid  too  dear  ? 


PAUL  HAMILTON  HAYNE  133 

For,  I  know  not  why,  when  I  tell  my  thought, 

It  seems  as  though  I  fling  it  away ; 
And  the  charm  wherewith  a  fancy  is  fraught, 

When  secret,  dies  with  the  fleeting  lay 

Into  which  it  is  wrought.  10 

So  my  butterfly -dreams  their  golden  wings 

But  seldom  unfurl  from  their  chrysalis; 
And  thus  I  retain  my  loveliest  things, 

While  the  world,  in  its  worldliness,  does  not  miss 

What  a  poet  sings.  15 


PAUL  HAMILTON   HAYNE1 
Beauregard's  Appeal 

!fea !  since  tne  need  is  bitter, 

Take  down  those  sacred  bells, 
Whose  music  speaks  of  hallowed  joys, 

And  passionate  farewells ! 

But  ere  ye  fall  dismantled,  5 

Ring  out,  deep  bells  !  once  more : 
And  pour  on  the  waves  of  the  passing  wind 

The  symphonies  of  yore. 

Let  the  latest  born  be  welcomed 

By  pealings  glad  and  long,  10 

Let  the  latest  dead  in  the  churchyard  bed 

Be  laid  with  solemn  song. 

And  the  bells  above  them  throbbing, 

Should  sound  in  mournful  tone, 
As  if,  in  grief  for  a  human  death, 

They  prophesied  their  own. 

1  The  selections  from  Paul  Hamilton  Hayne  are  used  by  permission  of 
Lothrop,  Lee  &  Shepard  Company,  publishers  of  Hayne's  Complete  Poems. 


134  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Who  says  'tis  a  desecration 

To  strip  the  temple  towers, 
And  invest  the  metal  of  peaceful  notes 
-'0  With  death-compelling  powers? 

A  truce  to  cant  and  folly ! 

Our  people's  ALL  at  stake, 
Shall  we  heed  the  cry  of  the  shallow  fool, 

Or  pause  for  the  bigot's  sake  V 

25  Then  crush  the  struggling  sorrow ! 

Feed  high  your  furnace  fires, 
And  mould  into  deep-mouthed  guns  of  bronze, 
The  bells  from  a  hundred  spires. 

Methinks  no  common  vengeance, 
30  No  transient  war  eclipse, 

Will  follow  the  awful  thunder-burst 
From  their  adamantine  lips. 

A  cause  like  ours  is  holy, 

And  it  useth  holy  things  ; 

35  While  over  the  storm  of  a  righteous  strife, 

May  shine  the  angel's  wings. 

Where'er  our  duty  leads  us, 
The  grace  of  God  is  there, 
And  the  lurid  shrine  of  war  may  hold 
40  The  Eucharist  of  prayer. 


Forgotten 

Forgotten  !     Can  it  be  a  few  swift  rounds 

Of  Time's  great  chariot  wheels  have  crushed  to  naught 
The  memory  of  those  fearful  sights  and  sounds, 

With  speechless  misery  fraught  — 
Wherethr,o'  we  hope  to  gain  the  Hesperian  height, 
Where  Freedom  smiles  in  light  ? 


PAUL   HAMILTON   HAYNE  135 

Forgotten !  scarce  have  two  dim  autumns  veiled 
With  merciful  mist  those  dreary  burial  sods, 

Whose  coldness  (when  the  high-strung  pulses  failed, 
Of  men  who  strove  like  gods)  10 

Wrapped  in  a  sanguine  fold  of  senseless  dust 

Dead  hearts  and  perished  trust ! 

Forgotten  !  While  in  far-off  woodland  dell, 
By  lonely  mountain  tarn  and  murmuring  stream, 

Bereaved  hearts  with  sorrowful  passion  swell  —  15 

Their  lives  one  ghastly  dream 

Of  hope  outwearied  and  betrayed  desire, 

And  anguish  crowned  with  fire  ! 

Forgotten !  while  our  manhood  cursed  with  chains, 

And  pilloried  high  for  all  the  world  to  view,  20 

Writhes  in  its  fierce,  intolerable  pains, 
Decked  with  dull  wreaths  of  rue, 

And  shedding  blood  for  tears,  hands  waled  with  scars, 

Lifts  to  the  dumb,  cold  stars  ! 

Forgotten  !  Can  the  dancer's  jocund  feet  25 

Flash  o'er  a  char n el-vault,  and  maidens  fair 
Bend  the  white  lustre  of  their  eyelids  sweet, 

Love-weighed,  so  nigh  despair, 

Its  ice-cold  breath  must  freeze  their  blushing  brows? 
And  hush  love's  tremulous  vows  ?  30 

Forgotten  !  Nay  :  but  all  the  songs  we  sing 

Hold  under-burdens,  wailing  chords  of  woe ; 
Our  lightest  laughters  sound  with  hollow  ring, 

Our  bright  wit's  freest  flow, 

Quavers  to  sudden  silence  of  affright,  35 

Touched  by  an  untold  blight ! 

Forgotten !  N"o !  we  cannot  all  forget, 

Or,  when  we  do,  farewell  to  Honor's  face, 
To  Hope's  sweet  tendance,  Valor's  unpaid  debt, 

And  every  noblest  Grace,  40 


136  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Which  nursed  in  Love,  might  still  benignly  bloom 
Above  a  nation's  tomb  ! 

Forgotten  !  Tho'  a  thousand  years  should  pass, 

Methinks  our  air  will  throb  with  memory's  thrills, 
45  A  conscious  grief  weigh  down  the  faltering  grass, 

A  pathos  shroud  the  hills, 
Waves  roll  lamenting,  autumn  sunsets  yearn 
For  the  old  time's  return  ! 


The  Axe  and  Pine 

All  day,  on  bole  and  limb  the  axes  ring, 
And  every  stroke  upon  my  startled  brain 
Falls  with  the  power  of  sympathetic  pain ; 
I  shrink  to  view  each  glorious  forest-king 
5      Descend  to  earth,  a  wan,  discrowned  thing. 
Ah,  Heaven!  beside  these  foliaged  giants  slain, 
How  small  the  human  dwarfs,  whose  lust  for  gain 
Hath  edged  their  brutal  steel  to  smite  and  sting  I 
Hark  !  to  those  long-drawn  murmurings,  strange  and  drear  1 
10      The  wails  of  Dryads  in  their  last  distress  ; 
O'er  ruined  haunts  and  ravished  loveliness 
Still  tower  those  brawny  arms ;  tones  coarsely  loud 
Rise  still  beyond  the  greenery's  waning  cloud, 
While  falls  the  insatiate  steel,  sharp,  cold  and  sheer  ! 

Aspects  of  the  Pines 

Tall,  sombre,  grim,  against  the  morning  sky 
They  rise,  scarce  touched  by  melancholy  airs, 

Which  stir  the  fadeless  foliage  dreamfully, 
As  if  from  realms  of  mystical  despairs. 

6         Tall,  sombre,  grim,  they  stand  with  dusky  gleams 
Brightening  to  gold  within  the  woodland's  core, 
Beneath  the  gracious  noontide's  tranquil  beams  — 
But  the  weird  winds  of  morning  sigh  no  more. 


EDGAR   ALLAN   POE  137 

A  stillness,  strange,  divine,  ineffable, 

Broods  round  and  o'er  them  in  the  wind's  surcease,  JQ 

And  on  each  tinted  copse  and  shimmering  dell 

Rests  the  mute  rapture  of  deep  hearted  peace. 

Last,  sunset  comes  —  the  solemn  joy  and  might 
"  Borne  from  the  West  when  cloudless  day  declines  — 
Low,  flutelike  breezes  sweep  the  waves  of  light,  15 

And  lifting  dark  green  tresses  of  the  pines,      T  ; 

Till  every  lock  is  luminous  —  gently  float, 

Fraught  with  hale  odors  up  the  heavens  afar 
To  faint  when  twilight  on  her  virginal  throat 

Wears  for  a  gem  the  tremulous  vesper  star.  20 

Poets 

Some  thunder  on  the  heights  of  song,  their  race 

Godlike  in  power,  while  others  at  their  feet 

Are  breathing  measures  scarce  less  strong  and  sweet 

Than  those  which  peal  from  out  that  loftiest  place ; 

Meantime,  just  midway  on  the  mount,  his  face  5 

Fairer  than  April  heavens,  when  storms  retreat, 

And  on  their  edges  rain  and  sunshine  meet, 

Pipes  the  soft  lyrist  lays  of  tender  grace  ; 

But  where  the  slopes  of  bright  Parnassus  sweep 

Near  to  the  common  ground,  a  various  throng  10 

Chant  lowlier  measures,  —  yet  each  tuneful  strain 

(The  silvery  minor  of  earth's  perfect  song) 

Blends  with  that  music  of  the  topmost  steep, 

O'er  whose  vast  realm  the  master  minstrels  reigri ! 

EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 
To  Helen 

Helen,  thy  beauty  is  to  me 

Like  those  Nicean  barks  of  yore, 

That  gently,  o'er  a  perfumed  sea, 
The  weary,  way-worn  wanderer  bore 
To  his  own  native  shore.  5 


138  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

i 

On  desperate  seas  long  wont  to  roam, 
Thy  hyacinth  hair,  thy  classic  face, 

Thy  Naiad  airs  have  brought  me  home 

To  the  glory  that  was  Greece, 
10  And  the  grandeur  that  was  Rome. 

Lo  !  in  yon  brilliant  window-niche 
How  statue-like  I  see  thee  stand, 
The  agate  lamp  within  thy  hand ! 

Ah,  Psyche,  from  the  regions  which 
15  Are  Holy-Land ! 


Israfel 

In  Heaven  a  spirit  doth  dwell 
'  Whose  heart-strings  are  a  lute ;  * 

None  sing  so  wildly  well 

As  the  angel  Israfel, 
5  And  the  giddy  stars  (so  legends  tell) 

Ceasing  their  hymns,  attend  the  spell 
Of  his  voice,  all  mute. 

Tottering  above 

In  her  highest  noon, 
10  The  enamored  moon 

Blushes  with  love, 

While,  to  listen,  the  red  levin 
(With  the  rapid  Pleiads,  even, 
Which  were  seven,) 
15  Pauses  in  Heaven. 

And  they  say  (the  starry  choir 
And  the  other  listening  things) 

That  Israfeli's  fire 

Is  owing  to  that  lyre 
20  By  which  he  sits  and  sings  — 

The  trembling  living  wire 
Of  those  unusual  strings. 


EDGAR  ALLAN   POE  139 

But  the  skies  that  angel  trod, 

Where  deep  thoughts  are  a  duty  — 
Where  Love's  a  grown-up  God  —  25 

Where  the  Houri  glances  are 
Imbued  with  all  the  beauty 

Which  we  worship  in  a  star. 

Therefore,  thou  art  not  wrong, 

Israfeli,  who  despisest  30 

An  unimpassioned  song; 
To  thee  the  laurels  belong, 

Best  bard,  because  the  wisest ! 
Merrily  live,  and  long ! 

The  ecstasies  above  35 

With  thy  burning  measures  suit  — 
Thy  grief,  thy  joy,  thy  hate,  thy  love, 

With  the  fervor  of  thy  lute  — 

Well  may  the  stars  be  mute ! 

Yes,  Heaven  is  thine ;  but  this  40 

Is  a  world  of  sweets  and  sours ; 

Our  flowers  are  merely  —  flowers, 
And  the  shadow  of  thy  perfect  bliss 

Is  the  sunshine  of  ours. 

If  I  could  dwell  45 

Where  Israfel 

Hath  dwelt,  and  he  where  I, 
He  might  not  sing  so  wildly  well 

A  mortal  melody, 
While  a  bolder  note  than  this  might  swell  50 

From  my  lyre  within  the  sky. 


140  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


The  Haunted  Palace 

In  the  greenest  of  our  valleys 

By  good  angels  tenanted, 
Once  a  fair  and  stately  palace  — 

Radiant  palace  —  reared  its  head. 
5  In  the  monarch  Thought's  dominion  — 

It  stood  there ! 
Never  seraph  spread  a  pinion 

Over  fabric  half  so  fair  ! 

Banners  yellow,  glorious,  golden, 
10  On  its  roof  did  float  and  flow, 

(This  —  all  this  —  was  in  the  olden 

Time  long  ago,) 
And  every  gentle  air  that  dallied, 

In  that  sweet  day, 

15  Along  the  ramparts  plumed  and  pallid, 

A  winged  odor  went  away. 

Wanderers  in  that  happy  valley, 

Through  two  luminous  windows,  saw 

Spirits  moving  musically, 
20  To  a  lute's  well-tuned  law, 

Round  about  a  throne  where,  sitting, 
(Porphyrogene  !) 

In  state  his  glory  well  befitting, 
The  ruler  of  the  realm  was  seen. 

25  And  all  with  pearl  and  ruby  glowing 

Was  the  fair  palace  door, 
Through  which  came  flowing,  flowing,  flowing 

And  sparkling  evermore, 
A  troop  of  Echoes,  whose  sweet  duty 
30  Was  but  to  sing, 

In  voices  of  surpassing  beauty, 

The  wit  and  wisdom  of  their  king. 


EDGAR  ALLAN   POE  141 

But  evil  things,  in  robes  of  sorrow, 

Assailed  the  monarch's  high  estate. 
(Ah,  let  us  mourn  !  —  for  never  morrow  35 

Shall  dawn  upon  him  desolate!) 
And  round  about  his  home  the  glory 

That  blushed  and  bloomed, 
Is  but  a  dim-remembered  story 

Of  the  old  time  entombed.  40 

And  travellers,  now,  within  that  valley, 

Through  the  red-litten  windows  see 
Vast  forms,  that  move  fantastically 

To  a  discordant  melody, 
While,  like  a  ghastly  rapid  river,  45 

Through  the  pale  door 
A  hideous  throng  rush  out  forever 

And  laugh  —  but  smile  no  more. 

The  Raven 

Once  upon  a  midnight  dreary,  while  I  pondered,  weak  and  weary, 
Over  many  a  quaint  and  curious  volume  of  forgotten  lore  — 
While  I  nodded,  nearly  napping,  suddenly  there  came  a  tapping, 
As  of  some  one  gently  rapping,  rapping  at  my  chamber  door. 
'  'Tis  some  visiter/  I  muttered,  « tapping  at  my  chamber  door —       5 
Only  this  and  nothing  more.' 

Ah,  distinctly  I  remember  it  was  in  the  bleak  December; 
And  each  separate  dying  ember  wrought  its  ghost  upon  the  floor. 
Eagerly  I  wished  the  morrow  ;  — vainly  I  had  sought  to  borrow 
From  my  books  surcease  of  sorrow  —  sorrow  for  the  lost  Lenore  —  10 
For  the  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore  — 
Nameless  here  for  evermore. 

And  the  silken,  sad,  uncertain  rustling  of  each  purple  curtain 
Thrilled  me  —  filled  me  with  fantastic  terrors  never  felt  before; 
So  that  now,  to  still  the  beating  of  my  heart,  I  stood  repeating        15 
*  'Tis  some  visiter  entreating  entrance  at  my  chamber  door  — 
Some  late  visiter  entreating  entrance  at  my  chamber  door ;  — 
This  it  is  and  nothing  more.' 


142  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Presently  my  soul  grew  stronger ;  hesitating  then  no  longer, 
20  <  Sir,'  said  I,  '  or  Madam,  truly  your  forgiveness  I  implore ; 
But  the  fact  is  I  was  napping,  and  so  gently  you  came  rapping, 
And  so  faintly  you  came  tapping,  tapping  at  my  chamber  door, 
That  I  scarce  was  sure  I  heard  you  '  —  here  I  opened  wide  the  door ; 
Darkness  there  and  nothing  more. 

25  Deep  into  that  darkness  peering,  long  I  stood  there  wondering, 

fearing, 

Doubting,  dreaming  dreams  no  mortal  ever  daved  to  dream  before ; 
But  the  silence  was  unbroken,  and  the  stillness  gave  no  token, 
And  the  only  word  there  spoken  was  the  whispered  word, «  Lenore  ! ' 
This  I  whispered,  and  an  echo  murmured  back  the  word  '  Lenore  !  ' 

30      Merely  this  and  nothing  more. 

Back  into  the  chamber  turning,  all  my  soul  within  me  burning, 
Soon  again  I  heard  a  tapping  somewhat  louder  than  before. 
'  Surely,'  said  I,  '  surely  that  is  something  at  my  window  lattice ; 
Let  me  see,  then,  what  thereat  is,  and  this  mystery  explore  — 
35  Let  my  heart  be  still  a  moment  and  this  mystery  explore ;  — 
'Tis  the  wind  and  nothing  more  ! ' 

Open  here  I  flung  the  shutter,  when,  with  many  a  flirt  and  nutter 

In  there  stepped  a  stately  Raven  of  the  saintly  days  of  yore. 

Not  the  least  obeisance  made  he;  not  a  minute  stopped  or  stayed 

he; 

40  But,  with  mien  of  lord  or  lady,  perched  above  my  chamber  door  — 
Perched  upon  a  bust  of  Pallas  just  above  my  chamber  door  — 
Perched,  and  sat,  and  nothing  more. 

Then  this  ebony  bird  beguiling  my  sad  fancy  into  smiling, 
By  the  grave  and  stern  decorum  of  the  countenance  it  wore, 
45  <  Though  thy  crest  be  shorn  and  shaven,  thou,'  I  said,  '  art  sure  no 

craven, 
Ghastly  grim  and  ancient  Raven  wandering  from    the  Nightly 

shore  — 

Tell  me  what  thy  lordly  name  is  on  the  Night's  Plutonian  shore  ! ' 
Quoth  the  Raven,  '  Nevermore.' 


EDGAR  ALLAN   POE  143 

Much  I  marvelled  this  ungainly  fowl  to  hear  discourse  so  plainly, 
Though  its  answer  little  meaning  —  little  relevancy  bore;  50 

For  we  cannot  help  agreeing  that  no  living  human  being 
Ever  yet  was  blessed  with  seeing  bird  above  his  chamber  door  — 
Bird  or  beast  upon  the  sculptured  bust  above  his  chamber  door, 
With  such  name  as  '  Nevermore.' 

But  the  Raven,  sitting  lonely  on  the  placid  bust,  spoke  only  55 

That  one  word,  as  if  his  soul  in  that  one  word  he  did  outpour. 
Nothing  farther  then  he  uttered  —  not  a  feather  then  he  fluttered  — 
Till  I  scarcely  more  than  muttered  '  Other  friends  have  flown 

before — 

On  the  morrow  he  will  leave  me,  as  my  hopes  have  flown  before.' 
Then  the  bird  said  '  Nevermore.'  60 

Startled  at  the  stillness  broken  by  reply  so  aptly  spoken, 
'  Doubtless,'  said  I,  « what  it  utters  is  its  only  stock  and  store 
Caught  from  some  unhappy  master  whom  unmerciful  Disaster 
Followed  fast  and  followed  faster  till  his  songs  one  burden  bore  — 
Till  the  dirges  of  his  Hope  that  melancholy  burden  bore  65 

Of  "  Never  —  nevermore."  ' 


But  the  Raven  still  beguiling  all  my  fancy  into  smiling, 
Straight  I  wheeled  a  cushioned  seat  in  front  of  bird,  and  bust  and 

door; 

Then,  upon  the  velvet  sinking,  I  betook  myself  to  linking 
Fancy  unto  fancy,  thinking  what  this  ominous  bird  of  yore  —          70 
What  this  grim,  ungainly,  ghastly,  gaunt,  and  ominous  bird  of  yore 
Meant  in  croaking  i  Nevermore.' 

This  I  sat  engaged  in  guessing,  but  no  syllable  expressing 
To  the  fowl  whose  fiery  eyes  now  burned  into  my  bosom's  core ; 
This  and  more  I  sat  divining,  with  my  head  at  ease  reclining          75 
On  the  cushion's  velvet  lining  that  the  lamp-light  gloated  o'er, 
But  whose  velvet  violet  lining  with  the  lamp-light  gloating  o'er, 
She  shall  press,  ah,  nevermore ! 


144  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Then,  methought,  the  air  grew  denser,  perfumed  from  an  unseen 

censer 

80  Swung  by  Seraphim  whose  foot-falls  tinkled  on  the  tufted  floor. 
*  Wretch,'  I  cried,  '  thy  God  hath  lent  thee  —  by  these  angels  he 

hath  sent  thee 

Respite  —  respite  and  nepenthe  from  thy  memories  of  Lenore; 
Quaff,  oh  quaff  this  kind  nepenthe  and  forget  this  lost  Lenore ! ' 
Quoth  the  Raven  *  Nevermore.' 

85  <  Prophet ! '  said  I,  *  thing  of  evil !  prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil !  — 
Whether  Tempter  sent,  or  whether  tempest  tossed  thee  here  ashore, 
Desolate  yet  all  undaunted,  on  this  desert  land  enchanted  — 
On  this  home  by  Horror  haunted  —  tell  me  truly,  I  implore  — 
Is  there  —  is  there  balm  in  Gilead  ?  —  tell  me  —  tell  me,  I  implore ! ' 

90      Quoth  the  Raven  l  Nevermore.' 

4  Prophet ! '  said  I,  '  thing  of  evil !  —  prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil ! 
By  that  Heaven  that  bends  above   us  —  by  that  God  we  both 

adore  — 

Tell  this  soul  with  sorrow  laden  if,  within  the  distant  Aidenn, 
It  shall  clasp  a  sainted  maiden  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore  — 
95  Clasp  a  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore.' 
Quoth  the  Raven  '  Nevermore.' 

'  Be  that  word  our  sign  of  parting,  bird  or  fiend ! '  I  shrieked, 

upstarting  — 

4  Get  thee  back  into  the  tempest  and  the  Night's  Plutonian  shore ! 
Leave  no  black  plume  as  a  token  of  that  lie  thy  soul  hath  spoken  ! 
100  Leave  my  loneliness  unbroken  !  — quit  the  bust  above  my  door  ! 
Take  thy  beak  from  out  my  heart,  and  take  thy  form  from  off  my 

door ! ' 
Quoth  the  Raven  *  Nevermore.' 

And  the  Raven,  never  flitting,  still  is  sitting,  still  is  sitting 
On  the  pallid  bust  of  Pallas  just  above  my  chamber  door; 
105  And  his  eyes  have  all  the  seeming  of  a  demon's  that  is  dreaming, 
And  the  lamp-light  o'er  him  streaming  throws  his  shadow  on  the 

floor; 

And  my  soul  from  out  that  shadow  that  lies  floating  on  the  floor 
Shall  be  lifted  —  nevermore ! 


EDGAR  ALLAN   POE  145 

Ulalume 

The  skies  they  were  ashen  and  sober ; 

The  leaves  they  were  crisped  and  sere  — 

The  leaves  they  were  withering  and  sere ; 
It  was  night  in  the  lonesome  October 

Of  my  most  immemorial  year ;  5 

It  was  hard  by  the  dim  lake  of  Auber, 

In  the  misty  mid  region  of  Weir  — 
It  was  down  by  the  dank  tarn  of  Auber, 

In  the  ghoul-haunted  woodland  of  Weir 

Here  once,  through  an  alley  Titanic.  10 

Of  cypress,  I  roamed  with  my  Soul  — 

Of  cypress,  with  Psyche,  my  Soul. 
These  were  days  when  my  heart  was  volcanic 

As  the  scoriae  rivers  that  roll  — 

As  the  lavas  that  restlessly  roll  15 

Their  sulphurous  currents  down  Yaanek 

In  the  ultimate  climes  of  the  pole  — 
That  groan  as  they  roll  down  Mount  Yaanek 

In  the  realms  of  the  boreal  pole. 

Our  talk  had  been  serious  and  sober,  20 

But  our  thoughts  they  were  palsied  and  sere  — 
Our  memories  were  treacherous  and  sere  — 

For  we  knew  not  the  month  was  October, 
And  we  marked  not  the  night  of  the  year  — 
(Ah,  night  of  all  nights  in  the  year  !)  25 

We  noted  not  the  dim  lake  of  Auber  — 

(Though  once  we  had  journeyed  down  here)  — 

Remembered  not  the  dank  tarn  of  Auber, 
Nor  the  ghoul-haunted  woodland  of  Weir. 

And  now,  as  the  night  was  senescent  30 

And  star-dials  pointed  to  morn  — 

As  the  star-dials  hinted  of  morn  — 
At  the  end  of  our  path  a  liquescent 

And  nebulous  lustre  was  born, 


146  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

35  Out  of  which  a  miraculous  crescent 

Arose  with  a  duplicate  horn  — 
Astarte's  bediamonded  crescent 
Distinct  with  its  duplicate  horn. 

And  I  said  —  « She  is  warmer  than  Dian  : 
40  She  rolls  through  an  ether  of  sighs  — 

She  revels  in  a  region  of  sighs : 
She  has  seen  that  the  tears  are  not  dry  on 

These  cheeks,  where  the  worm  never  dies 
And  has  come  past  the  stars  of  the  Lion 
45  To  point  us  the  path  to  the  skies  — 

To  the  Lethean  peace  of  the  skies  — 
Come  up,  in  despite  of  the  Lion, 

To  shine  on  us  with  her  bright  eyes  — 
Come  up  through  the  lair  of  the  Lion, 
60  With  love  in  her  luminous  eyes/ 

But  Psyche,  uplifting  her  finger, 
Said  — '  Sadly  this  star  I  mistrust  — 
Her  pallor  I  strangely  mistrust :  — 

Oh,  hasten  !  —  oh,  let  us  not  linger  ! 
65  Oh,  fly !  —  let  us  fly  1  —  for  we  must.' 

In  terror  she  spoke,  letting  sink  her 
Wings  until  they  trailed  in  the  dust  — 

In  agony  sobbed,  letting  sink  her 

Plumes  till  they  trailed  in  the  dust  — 
60  Till  they  sorrowfully  trailed  in  the  dust. 

I  replied  —  <  This  is  nothing  but  dreaming : 

Let  us  on  by  this  tremulous  light ! 

Let  us  bathe  in  this  crystalline  light ! 
Its  Sibyllic  splendor  Is  beaming 
65  With  Hope  and  in  Beauty  to-night :  — 

See !  —  it  flickers  up  the  sky  through  the  night ! 
Ah,  we  safely  may  trust  to  its  gleaming, 

And  be  sure  it  will  lead  us  aright  — 
We  safely  may  trust  to  a  gleaming 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  147 

That  cannot  but  guide  us  aright,  70 

Since  it  flickers  up  to  Heaven  through  the  night.' 


Thus  I  pacified  Psyche  and  kissed  her, 

And  tempted  her  out  of  her  gloom  — 

And  conquered  her  scruples  and  gloom ; 
And  we  passed  to  the  end  of  the  vista,  75 

But  were  stopped  by  the  door  of  a  tomb  — 

By  the  door  of  a  legended  tomb ; 
And  I  said  —  *  What  is  written,  sweet  sister, 

On  the  door  of  this  legended  tomb  ? ' 

She  replied  — '  Ulalume  —  Ulalume  —  80 

'Tis  the  vault  of  thy  lost  Ulalume ! ' 

Then  my  heart  it  grew  ashen  and  sober 
As  the  leaves  that  were  crisped  and  sere  — 
As  the  leaves  that  were  withering  and  sere, 

And  I  cried  —  *  It  was  surely  October  85 

On  this  very  night  of  last  year 
That  I  journeyed  —  I  journeyed  down  here  — 
That  I  brought  a  dread  burden  down  here  — 
On  this  night  of  all  nights  in  the  year, 
Ah,  what  demon  has  tempted  me  here  ?  90 

Well  I  know,  now,  this  dim  lake  of  Auber  — 
This  misty  mid  region  of  Weir  — 

Well  I  know,  now,  this  dank  tarn  of  Auber, 
This  ghoul-haunted  woodland  of  Weir.' 


Annabel  Lee 

It  was  many  and  many  a  year  ago, 

In  a  kingdom  by  the  sea 
That  a  maiden  there  lived  whom  you  may  know 

By  the  name  of  ANNABEL  LEE  ; 
And  this  maiden  she  lived  with  no  other  thought 

Than  to  love  and  be  loved  by  me. 


148  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

/  was  a  child  and  she  was  a  child, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea, 

But  we  loved  with  a  love  that  was  more  than  love  — 
10  I  and  my  ANNABEL  LEE  — 

With  a  love  that  the  winged  seraphs  of  heaven 

Coveted  her  and  me. 

And  this  was  the  reason  that,  long  ago, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
15         A  wind  blew  out  of  a  cloud,  chilling 

My  beautiful  ANNABEL  LEE  ; 
So  that  her  high-born  kinsmen  came 

And  bore  her  away  from  me, 
To  shut  her  up  in  a  sepulchre 
20  In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea. 

The  angels,  not  half  so  happy  in  heaven, 

Went  envying  her  and  me  — 
Yes  !  —  that  was  the  reason  (as  all  men  know, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea) 
25         That  the  wind  came  out  of  the  cloud  by  night, 

Chilling  and  killing  my  ANNABEL  LEE. 

But  our  love  it  was  stronger  by  far  than  the  love 

Of  those  who  were  older  than  we  — 

Of  many  far  wiser  than  we  — 
30         And  neither  the  angels  in  heaven  above, 

Nor  the  demons  down  under  the  sea, 
Can  ever  dissever  my  soul  from  the  soul 

Of  the  beautiful  ANNABEL  LEE  : 

For  the  moon  never  beams,  without  bringing  me  dreams 
35  Of  the  beautiful  ANNABEL  LEE, 

And  the  stars  never  rise,  but  I   feel  the  bright  eyes 

Of  the  beautiful  ANNABEL  LEE  : 
And  so,  all  the  night-tide,  I  lie  down  by  the  side 
Of  my  darling  —  my  darling  —  my  life  and  my  bride, 
40  In  the  sepulchre  there  by  the  sea  — 

In  her  tomb  by  the  sounding  sea. 


EDGAR  ALLAN   POE  149 


Morella 

AUTO  rjaff  avro  />ie#'  avrov,  aovo  ctScs  cuet  av. 

Itself,  by  itself  solely,  ONE  everlastingly,  and  single. 

—  PLATO,  Sympos. 

With  a  feeling  of  deep  yet  most  singular  affection  I  re 
garded  my  friend  Morella.  Thrown  by  accident  into  her  5 
society  many  years  ago,  my  soul,  from  our  first  meeting, 
burned  with  fires  it  had  never  before  known ;  but  the  fires 
were  not  of  Eros,  and  bitter  and  tormenting  to  my  spirit 
was  the  gradual  conviction  that  I  could  in  no  manner  de 
fine  their  unusual  meaning,  or  regulate  their  vague  in- 10 
tensity.  Yet  we  met ;  and  fate  bound  us  together  at  the 
altar ;  and  I  never  spoke  of  passion,  nor  thought  of  love. 
She  however,  shunned  society,  and,  attaching  herself  to  me 
alone,  rendered  me  happy.  It  is  a  happiness  to  wonder; 
it  is  a  happiness  to  dream.  15 

Morella's  erudition  was  profound.  As  I  hope  to  live, 
her  talents  were  of  no  common  order  —  her  powers  of  mind 
were  gigantic.  I  felt  this  and,  in  many  matters,  became 
her  pupil.  I  soon,  however,  found  that,  perhaps  on  ac 
count  of  her  Presburg  education,  she  placed  before  me  a  20 
number  of  those  mystical  writings  which  are  usually  con 
sidered  the  mere  dross  of  the  early  German  literature. 
These,  for  what  reason  I  could  not  imagine,  were  her  fa 
vorite  and  constant  study  —  and  that,  in  process  of  time 
they  became  my  own,  should  be  attributed  to  the  simple  25 
but  effectual  influence  of  habit  and  example. 

In  all  this,  if  I  err  not,  my  reason  had  little  to  do.     My 
convictions,  or  I  forget  myself,  were  in  no  manner  acted 
upon  by  the  ideal,  nor  was  any  tincture  of  the  mysticism 
which  I  read,  to  be  discovered,  unless  I  am  greatly  mis- 30 
taken,  either  in  my  deeds  or  in  my  thoughts.     Persuaded 


150  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

of  this,  I  abandoned  myself  implicitly  to  the  guidance  of 
my  wife,  and  entered  with  an  unflinching  heart  into  the 
intricacies  of  her  studies.  And  then  —  then,  when,  poring 

35  over  forbidden  pages,  I  felt  a  forbidden  spirit  enkindling 
within  me — would  Morella  place  her  cold  hand  upon  my 
own,  and  rake  up  from  the  ashes  of  a  dead  philosophy 
some  low,  singular  words,  whose  strange  meaning  burned 
themselves  in  upon  my  memory.  And  then,  hour  after 

40  hour,  would  I  linger  by  her  side,  and  dwell  upon  the 
music  of  her  voice  —  until,  at  length,  its  melody  was  tainted 
with  terror,  —  and  there  fell  a  shadow  upon  my  soul  —  and 
I  grew  pale,  and  shuddered  inwardly  at  those  too  unearthly 
tones.  And  thus,  joy  suddenly  faded  into  horror,  and  the 

45  most  beautiful  became  the  most  hideous,  as  Hinnon  be 
came  the  Gehenna. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  state  the  exact  character  of  those 
disquisitions  which,  growing  out  of  the  volumes  I  have 
mentioned,  formed,  for  so  long  a  time,  almost  the  sole 

50  conversation  of  Morella  and  myself.  By  the  learned  in 
what  might  be  termed  theological  morality  they  will  be 
readily  conceived,  and  by  the  unlearned  they  would,  at  all 
events,  be  little  understood.  The  wild  Pantheism  of  Fichte ; 
the  modified  naAiyyevecrm  of  Pythagoreans ;  and,  above  all, 

.55  the  doctrines  of  Identity  as  urged  by  Schelling  were  gener 
ally  the  points  of  discussion  presenting  the  most  of  beauty 
to  the  imaginative  Morella.  That  identity  which  is  termed 
personal,  Mr.  Locke,  I  think,  truly  defines  to  consist  in  the 
saneness  of  a  rational  being.  And  since  by  person  we  un- 

tfoderstand  an  intelligent  essence  having  reason,  and  since 
there  is  a  consciousness  which  always  accompanies  thinking, 
it  is  this  which  makes  us  all  to  be  that  which  we  call  our 
selves —  thereby  distinguishing  us  from  other  beings  that 
think,  and  giving  us  our  personal  identity.  But  the  princi- 
indimduationis — the  notion  of  that  identity  which  at 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  151 

death  is  or  is  not  lost  forever — was  to  me,  at  all  times,  a  con 
sideration  of  intense  interest ;  not  more  from  the  perplexing 
and  exciting  nature  of  its  consequences,  than  from  the  marked 
and  agitated  manner  in  which  Morella  mentioned  them. 

But,  indeed,  the  time  had  now  arrived  when  the  mystery  70 
of  my  wife's  manner  oppressed  me  as  a  spell.  I  could  no 
longer  bear  the  touch  of  her  wan  fingers,  nor  the  low  tone  of 
her  musical  language,  nor  the  lustre  of  her  melancholy  eyes. 
And  she  knew  all  this,  but  did  not  upbraid;  she  seemed 
conscious  of  my  weakness  or  my  folly  and,  smiling,  called  it  75 
Fate.  She  seemed,  also,  conscious  of  a  cause,  to  me  un 
known,  for  the  gradual  alienation  of  my  regard ;  but  she 
gave  me  no  hint  or  token  of  its  nature.  Yet  was  she  woman, 
and  pined  away  daily.  In  time,  the  crimson  spot  settled 
steadily  upon  the  cheek,  and  the  blue  veins  upon  the  pale  80 
forehead  became  prominent;  and,  one  instant,  my  nature 
melted  into  pity  but,  in  the  next,  I  met  the  glance  of  her 
meaning  eyes,  and  then  my  soul  sickened  and  became  giddy 
with  the  giddiness  of  one  who  gazes  downward  into  some 
dreary  and  unfathomable  abyss.  8£ 

Shall  I  then  say  that  I  longed  with  an  earnest  and  con 
suming  desire  for  the  moment  of  Morella's  decease  ?  I  did ; 
but  the  fragile  spirit  clung  to  its  tenement  of  clay  for  many 
days  —  for  many  weeks  and  irksome  months  —  until  my 
tortured  nerves  obtained  the  mastery  over  my  mind,  and  1 90 
grew  furious  through  delay,  and  with  the  heart  of  a  fiend, 
cursed  the  days,  and  the  hours,  and  the  bitter  moments, 
which  seemed  to  lengthen  and  lengthen  as  her  gentle  life 
declined  —  like  shadows  in  the  dying  of  the  day. 

But  one  autumnal  evening,  when  the  winds  lay  still  in  95 
heaven,  Morella  called  me  to  her  bedside.     There  was  a  dim 
mist  over  all  the  earth,  and  a  warm  glow  upon  the  waters, 
and,  amid  the  rich  October  leaves  of  the  forest,  a  rainbow 
from  the  firmament  had  surely  fallen. 


152  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

100  "  It  is  a  day  of  days,"  she  said,  as  I  approached  ;  "  a  day 
of  all  days  either  to  live  or  die.  It  is  a  fair  day  for  the 
sons  of  earth  and  life  —  ah,  more  fair  for  the  daughters  of 
heaven  and  death ! " 

I  kissed  her  forehead,  and  she  continued : 
105      "  I  am  dying,  yet  shall  I  live." 
"Morella!" 
"The  days  have  never  been  when  thou  couldst  love  me 

—  but  her  whom  in  life  thou  didst  abhor,  in  death  thou 
shalt  adore." 

no      "Morella!" 

"I  repeat  that  I  am  dying.  But  within  me  is  a  pledge 
of  that  affection  —  ah,  how  little !  which  thou  didst  feel  for 
me,  Morella.  And  when  my  spirit  departs,  shall  the  child 
live  —  thy  child  and  mine,  Morella's.  But  thy  days  shall 

115  be  days  of  sorrow  —  that  sorrow  which  is  the  most  lasting 
of  impressions,  as  the  cypress  is  the  most  enduring  of  trees. 
For  the  hours  of  thy  happiness  are  over;  and  joy  is  not 
gathered  twice  in  a  life,  as  the  roses  of  Psestum  twice  in  a 
year.  Thou  shalt  no  longer,  then,  play  the  Teian  with 

120  time  but,  being  ignorant  of  the  myrtle  and  the  vine,  thou 
shalt  bear  about  with  thee  thy  shroud  on  the  earth,  as  do 
the  Moslemin  at  Mecca." 

"  Morella !  "  I  cried,  "  Morella !  how  knowest  thou  this  ?  " 

—  but  she  turned  away  her  face  upon  the  pillow,  and,  a 
125  slight  tremor  coming  over  her  limbs,  she  thus  died,  and  I 

heard  her  voice  no  more. 

Yet,  as  she  had  foretold,  her  child  —  to  which  in  dying 
she  had  given  birth,  which  breathed  not  until  the  mother 
breathed  no  more  —  her  child,  a  daughter,  lived.  And  she 
130  grew  strangely  in  stature  and  intellect,  and  was  the  perfect 
resemblance  of  her  who  had  departed ;  and  I  loved  her  with 
a  love  more  fervent  than  I  had  believed  it  possible  to  feel 
for  any  denizen  of  earth. 


EDGAR  ALLAN   POE  153 

But,  erelong,  the  heaven  of  this  pure  affection  became 
darkened,  and  gloom,  and  horror,  and  grief  swept  over  it  135 
in  clouds.  I  said  the  child  grew  strangely  in  stature  and 
intelligence.  Strange,  indeed,  was  her  rapid  increase  in 
bodily  size  —  but  terrible,  oh !  terrible  were  the  tumultuous 
thoughts  which  crowded  upon  me  while  watching  the  de 
velopment  of  her  mental  being !  Could  it  be  otherwise,  uo 
when  I  daily  discovered  in  the  conceptions  of  the  child  the 
adult  powers  and  faculties  of  the  woman?  —  when  the 
lessons  of  experience  fell  from  the  lips  of  infancy  ?  and 
when  the  wisdom  or  the  passions  of  maturity  I  found 
hourly  gleaming  from  its  full  and  speculative  eye  ?  When,  145 
I  say,  all  this  became  evident  to  my  appalled  senses  —  when 
I  could  no  longer  hide  it  from  my  soul,  nor  throw  it  off 
from  those  perceptions  which  trembled  to  receive  it  —  is 
it  to  be  wondered  at  that  suspicions,  of  a  nature  fearful 
and  exciting,  crept  in  upon  my  spirit,  or  that  my  thoughts  150 
fell  back  aghast  upon  the  wild  tales  and  thrilling  theories 
of  the  entombed  Morella?  I  snatched  from  the  scrutiny 
of  the  world  a  being  whom  destiny  compelled  me  to  adore, 
and  in  the  rigorous  seclusion  of  my  home  watched,  with  an 
agonizing  anxiety,  over  all  which  concerned  the  beloved.  155 

And,  as  years  rolled  away,  and  I  gazed,  day  after  day, 
upon  her  holy,  and  mild,  and  eloquent  face,  and  pored  over 
her  maturing  form,  day  after  day  did  I  discover  new  points 
of  resemblance  in  the  child  to  her  mother,  the  melancholy 
and  the  dead.  And,  hourly,  grew  darker  these  shadows  of  160 
similitude,  and  more  full,  and  more  definite,  and  more  per 
plexing,  and  more  hideously  terrible  in  their  aspect.  For 
that  her  smile  was  like  her  mother's  I  could  bear;  but 
then  I  shuddered  at  its  too  perfect  identity.  That  her  eyes 
were  like  Morella' s  I  could  endure ;  but  the,n  they  too  often  165 
looked  down  into  the  depths  of  my  soul  with  Morella's 
own  intense  and  bewildering  meaning.  And  in  the  con- 


154  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

tour  of  the  high,  forehead,  and  in  the  ringlets  of  the  silken 
hair,  and  in  the  wan  fingers  which  buried  themselves  there- 

170  in,  and  in  the  sad  musical  tones  of  her  speech,  and  above 
all  —  oh !  above  all  —  in  the  phrases  and  expressions  of  the 
dead  on  the  lips  of  the  loved  and  the  living,  I  found  food 
for  consuming  thought  and  horror  —  for  a  worm  that  would 
not  die. 

175  Thus  passed  away  two  lustra  of  her  life  and,  as  yet,  my 
daughter  remained  nameless  upon  the  earth.  "  My  child," 
and  "  my  love "  were  the  designations  usually  prompted 
by  a  father's  affection,  and  the  rigid  seclusion  of  her  days 
precluded  all  other  intercourse.  Morella's  name  died  with 

180  her  at  her  death.  Of  the  mother  I  had  never  spoken  to 
the  daughter ;  —  it  was  impossible  to  speak.  Indeed,  dur 
ing  the  brief  period  of  her  existence,  the  latter  had  received 
no  impressions  from  the  outer  world,  save  such  as  might 
have  been  afforded  by  the  narrow  limits  of  her  privacy. 

185  But  at  length  the  ceremony  of  baptism  presented  to  my 
mind,  in  its  unnerved  and  agitated  condition,  a  present 
deliverance  from  the  terrors  of  my  destiny.  And  at  the 
baptismal  fount  I  hesitated  for  a  name.  And  many  titles 
of  the  wise  and  beautiful,  of  old  and  modern  times,  of  my 

190  own  and  foreign  lands  came  thronging  to  my  lips,  with 
many,  many  fair  titles  of  the  gentle,  and  the  happy,  and 
the  good.  What  prompted  me,  then,  to  disturb  the  memory 
of  the  buried  dead?  What  demon  urged  me  to  breathe 
that  sound,  which,  in  its  very  recollection,  was  wont  to 

195  make  ebb  the  purple  blood  in  torrents  from  the  temples 
to  the  heart  ?  What  fiend  spoke  from  the  recesses  of  my 
soul,  when,  amid  those  dim  aisles,  and  in  the  silence  of  the 
night,  I  whispered  within  the  ears  of  the  holy  man  the 
syllables — Morella?  What  more  than  fiend  convulsed  the 

200  features  of  my  child,  and  overspread  them  with  hues  of 
death,  as  starting  at  that  scarcely  audible  sound,  she  turned 


EDGAR  ALLAN   POE  155 

her  glassy  eyes  from  the  earth  to  heaven  and,  falling  pros 
trate  on  the  black  slabs  of  our  ancestral  vault,  responded 
—  "I  am  here!" 

Distinct,  coldly,  calmly  distinct,  fell  those  few  simple  205 
sounds  within  my  ear,  and  thence  like  molten  lead,  rolled 
hissingly  into  my  brain.  Years  —  years  may  pass  away, 
but  the  memory  of  that  epoch  —  never !  Nor  was  I  indeed 
ignorant  of  the  flowers  and  the  vine  —  but  the  hemlock  and 
the  cypress  overshadowed  me  night  and  day.  And  I  kept  210 
no  reckoning  of  time  or  place,  and  the  stars  of  my  fate 
faded  from  heaven,  and  therefore  the  earth  grew  dark, 
and  its  figures  passed  by  me,  like  flitting  shadows,  and 
among  them  all  I  beheld  only  —  Morella.  The  winds  of  the 
firmament  breathed  but  one  sound  within  my  ears,  and  215 
the  ripples  upon  the  sea  murmured  evermore  —  Morella. 
But  she  died;  and  with  my  own  hands  I  bore  her  to  the 
tomb ;  and  I  laughed  with  a  .long  and  bitter  laugh  as  I 
found  no  traces  of  the  first,  in  the  charnel  where  I  laid  the 
second,  Morella.  220 

The  Short-Story 

(From  review  of  Twice-Told  Tales) 

The  tale  proper,  in  our  opinion,  affords  unquestionably 
the  fairest  field  for  the  exercise  of  the  loftiest  talent,  which 
can  be  afforded  by  the  wide  domains  of  mere  prose.  Were 
we  bidden  to  say  how  the  highest  genius  could  be  most  ad 
vantageously  employed  for  the  best  display  of  its  own  powers,  5 
we  should  answer,  without  hesitation  —  in  the  composition 
of  a  rhymed  poem,  not  to  exceed  in  length  what  might  be 
perused  in  an  hour.  Within  this  limit  alone  can  the  highest 
order  of  true  poetry  exist.  We  need  only  here  say,  upon 
this  topic,  that,  in  almost  all  classes  of  composition,  the  10 
unity  of  effect  or  impression  is  a  point  of  the  greatest  im- 


156  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

portance.  It  is  clear,  moreover,  that  this  unity  cannot  be 
thoroughly  preserved  in  productions  whose  perusal  cannot 
be  completed  at  one  sitting.  We  may  continue  the  reading 

15  of  a  prose  composition,  from  the  very  nature  of  prose  it 
self,  much  longer  than  we  can  persevere,  to  any  good  pur 
pose,  in  the  perusal  of  a  poem.  This  latter,  if  truly  fulfill 
ing  the  demands  of  the  poetic  sentiment,  induces  an  exalta 
tion  of  the  soul  which  cannot  be  long  sustained.  All  high 

20  excitements  are  necessarily  transient.  Thus  a  long  poem 
is  a  parodox.  And,  without  unity  of  impression,  the  deepest 
effects  cannot  be  brought  about.  Epics  were  the  offspring 
of  an  imperfect  sense  of  Art,  and  their  reign  is  no  more.  A 
poem  too  brief  may  produce  a  vivid,  but  never  an  intense  or 

25  enduring  impression.  Without  a  certain  continuity  of  ef 
fort  —  without  a  certain  duration  or  repetition  of  purpose  — 
the  soul  is  never  deeply  moved.  There  must  be  the  drop 
ping  of  the  water  upon  the  rock.  De  Beranger  has  wrought 
brilliant  things  —  pungent  and  spirit-stirring  —  but,  like  im- 

30  massive  bodies,  they  lack  momentum,  and  thus  fail  to  satisfy 
the  Poetic  Sentiment.  They  sparkle  and  excite,  but,  from 
want  of  continuity,  fail  deeply  to  impress.  Extreme  brevity 
will  degenerate  into  epigrammatism  ;  but  the  sin  of  extreme 
length  is  even  more  unpardonable.  In  medio  tutissimus  ibis. 

35  Were  we  called  upon,  however,  to  designate  that  class  of 
composition,  which,  next  to  such  a  poem  as  we  have  suggested, 
should  best  fulfil  the  demands  of  high  genius  —  should  offer 
it  the  most  advantageous  field  of  exertion  —  we  should  un 
hesitatingly  speak  of  the  prose  tale,  as  Mr.  Hawthorne  has 

40  here  exemplified  it.  We  allude  to  the  short  prose  narrative, 
requiring  from  a  half-hour  to  one  or  two  hours  in  its  perusal. 
The  ordinary  novel  is  objectionable,  from  its  length,  for 
reasons  already  stated  in  substance.  As  it  cannot  be  read 
at  one  sitting,  it  deprives  itself,  of  course,  of  the  immense 

45  force  derivable  from  totality.     Worldly  interests  intervening 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  157 

during  the  pauses  of  perusal,  modify,  annul,  or  counteract, 
in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  the  impressions  of  the  book. 
But  simple  cessation  in  reading,  would,  of  itself,  be  sufficient 
to  destroy  the  true  unity.  In  the  brief  tale,  however,  the 
author  is  enabled  to  carry  out  the  fulness  of  his  intention,  50 
be  it  what  it  may.  During  the  hour  of  perusal  the  soul  of 
the  reader  is  at  the  writer's  control.  There  are  no  external 
or  extrinsic  influences  —  resulting  from  weariness  or  inter 
ruption. 

A  skilful  literary  artist  has  constructed  a  tale.     If  wise,  55 
he  has  not  fashioned  his  thoughts  to  accommodate  his  inci 
dents  ;  but  having  conceived  with  deliberate  care,  a  certain 
unique  or  single  effect  to  be  wrought  out,  he  then  invents 
such  incidents  —  he  then  combines  such  events  as  may  best 
aid  him  in  establishing  this  preconceived  effect.     If  his  very  60 
initial  sentence  tend  not  to  the  outbringing  of  this  effect, 
then  he  has  failed  in  his  first  step.     In  the  whole  composi 
tion  there  should  be  no  word  written,  of  which  the  tendency, 
direct  or  indirect,  is  not  to  the  one  pre-established  design. 
And  by  such  means,  with  such  care  and  skill,  a  picture  is  at  65 
length  painted  which  leaves  in  the  mind  of  him  who  con 
templates  it  with  a  kindred  art,  a  sense  of  the  fullest  satis 
faction.     The  idea  of  the  tale  has  been  presented  unblem 
ished,  because  undisturbed  ;  and  this  is  an  end  unattainable 
by  the  novel.     Undue  brevity  is  just  as  exceptionable  here  70 
as  in  the  poem  ;  but  undue  length  is  yet  more  to  be  avoided. 

We  have  said  that  the  tale  has  a  point  of  superiority  even 
over  the  poem.  In  fact,  while  the  rhythm  of  this  latter  is  an 
essential  aid  in  the  development  of  the  poet's  highest  idea 
—  the  idea  of  the  Beautiful  —  the  artificialities  of  this  75 
rhythm  are  an  inseparable  bar  to  the  development  of  all 
points  of  thought  or  expression  which  have  their  basis  in 
Truth.  But  Truth  is  often,  and  in  very  great  degree,  the 
aim  of  the  tale.  Some  of  the  finest  tales  are  tales  of 


158  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

80  ratiocination.  Thus  the  field  of  this  species  of  composition, 
if  not  in  so  elevated  a  region  on  the  mountain  of  Mind,  is  a 
table-land  of  far  vaster  extent  than  the  domain  of  the  mere 
poem.  Its  products  are  never  so  rich,  but  infinitely '  more 
numerous,  and  more  appreciable  by  the  mass  of  mankind. 

85  The  writer  of  the  prose  tale,  in  short,  may  bring  to  his 
theme  a  vast  variety  of  modes  or  inflections  of  thought  and 
expression  —  (the  ratiocinative,  for  example,  the  sarcastic,  or 
the  humorous)  which  are  not  only  antagonistical  to  the 
nature  of  the  poem,  but  absolutely  forbidden  by  one  of  its 

90  most  peculiar  and  indispensable  adjuncts;  we  allude,  of 
course,  to  rhythm.  It  may  be  added  here,  par  parenthese, 
that  the  author  who  aims  at  the  purely  beautiful  in  a  prose 
tale  is  laboring  at  great  disadvantage.  For  Beauty  can  be 
better  treated  in  the  poem.  Not  so  with  terror,  or  passion, 

95  or  horror,  or  a  multitude  of  such  other  points.  And  here  it 
will  be  seen  how  full  of  prejudice  are  the  usual  animadver 
sions  against  those  tales  of  effect,  many  fine  examples  of  which 
were  found  in  the  earlier  numbers  of  Blackwood.  The  im 
pressions  produced  were  wrought  in  a  legitimate  sphere  of 
100  action,  and  constituted  a  legitimate  although  sometimes  an 
exaggerated  interest.  They  were  relished  by  every  man 
of  genius :  although  there  were  found  many  men  of  genius 
who  condemned  them  without  just  ground.  The  true  critic 
will  but  demand  that  the  design  intended  be  accomplished, 
105  to  the  fullest  extent,  by  the  means  most  advantageously 
applicable. 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  159 

NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE  * 

The  May-Pole  of  Merry  Mount 

There  is  an  admirable  foundation  for  a  philosophic  romance,  in  the 
curious  history  of  the  early  settlement  of  Mount  Wollaston,  or  Merry 
Mount.  In  the  slight  sketch  here  attempted,  the  facts  recorded  on  the 
grave  pages  of  our  New  England  annalists  have  wrought  themselves, 
almost  spontaneously,  into  a  sort  of  allegory.  The  masques,  mummeries, 
and  festive  customs,  described  in  the  text  are  in  accordance  with  the 
manners  of  the  age.  Authority  on  these  points  may  be  found  in  Strutt's 
Book  of  English  Sports  and  Pastimes. 

Bright  were  the  days  at  Merry  Mount,  when  the  May- 
Pole  was  the  banner  staff  of  that  gay  colony !  They  who 
reared  it,  should  their  banner  be  triumphant,  were  to  pour 
sunshine  over  New  England's  rugged  hills,  and  scatter 
flower-seeds  throughout  the  soil.  Jollity  and  gloom  were  5 
contending  for  an  empire.  Midsummer  eve  had  come, 
bringing  deep  verdure  to  the  forest,  and  roses  in  her  lap,  of 
a  more  vivid  hue  than  the  tender  buds  of  Spring.  But  May, 
or  her  mirthful  spirit,  dwelt  all  the  year  round  at  Merry 
Mount,  sporting  with  the  Summer  months,  and  revelling  10 
with  Autumn,  and  basking  in  the  glow  of  Winter's  fireside. 
Through  a  world  of  toil  and  care  she  flitted  with  a  dream 
like  smile,  and  came  hither  to  find  a  home  among  the  light 
some  hearts  of  Merry  Mount. 

Never   had   the   May-Pole   been   so  gayly  decked  as  at  15 
sunset  on  midsummer  eve.     This  venerated  emblem  was  a 
pine-tree,  which  had  preserved  the  slender  grace  of  youth, 
while  it  equaled  the  loftiest  height  of  the  old  wood  mon- 
archs.     From  its  top  streamed  a  silken  banner,  colored  like 
the   rainbow.     Down   nearly  to  the  ground,  the  pole  was  20 
dressed  with  birchen  boughs,  and   others   of   the  liveliest 

1  The  selections  from  Hawthorne,  Emerson,  Thoreau,  Longfellow,  Lowell, 
Whittier,  and  Holmes  are  used  by  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrange 
ment  with,  Houghton  Mifflin  Company,  publishers  of  their  works. 


160  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

green,  and  some  with,  silvery  leaves,  fastened  by  ribbons 
that  fluttered  in  fantastic  knots  of  twenty  different  colors, 
but  no  sad  ones.  Garden  flowers  and  blossoms  of  the 

25  wilderness  laughed  gladly  forth  amid  the  verdure,  so  fresh 
and  dewy,  that  they  must  have  grown  by  magic  on  that 
happy  pine-tree.  Where  this  green  and  flowery  splendor 
terminated,  the  shaft  of  the  May-Pole  was  stained  with  the 
seven  brilliant  hues  of  the  banner  at  its  top.  On  the 

•30  lowest  green  bough  hung  an  abundant  wreath  of  roses, 
some  that  had  been  gathered  in  the  sunniest  spots  of  the 
forest,  and  others,  of  still  richer  blush,  which  the  colonists 
had  reared  from  English  seed.  0  people  of  the  Golden  Age, 
the  chief  of  your  husbandry  was  to  raise  flowers ! 

35  But  what  was  the  wild  throng  that  stood  hand  in  hand 
about  the  May-Pole  ?  It  could  not  be,  that  the  fauns  and 
nymphs,  when  driven  from  their  classic  groves  and  homes 
of  ancient  fable,  had  sought  refuge,  as  all  the  persecuted 
did,  in  the  fresh  woods  of  the  West.  These  were  Gothic 

40  monsters,  though  perhaps  of  Grecian  ancestry.  On  the 
shoulders  of  a  comely  youth  uprose  the  head  and  branching 
antlers  of  a  stag ;  a  second,  human  in  all  other  points,  had 
the  grim  visage  of  a  wolf ;  a  third,  still  with  the  trunk  and 
limbs  of  a  mortal  man,  showed  the  beard  and  horns  of  a 

45  venerable  he-goat.  There  was  the  likeness  of  a  bear  erect, 
brute  in  all  but  his  hind  legs,  which  were  adorned  with 
pink  silk  stockings.  And  here  again,  almost  as  wondrous, 
stood  a  real  bear  of  the  dark  forest,  lending  each  of  his  fore- 
paws  to  the  grasp  of  a  human  hand,  and  as  ready  for  the 

50  dance  as  any  in  that  circle.  His  inferior  nature  rose  half 
way,  to  meet  his  companions  as  they  stooped.  Other  faces 
wore  the  similitude  of  man  or  woman,  but  distorted  or 
extravagant,  with  red  noses  pendulous  before  their  mouths, 
which  seemed  of  awful  depth,  and  stretched  from  ear  to 

55  ear  in  an  eternal  fit  of  laughter.     Here  might  be  seen  the 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  161 

Salvage  Man,  well  known  in  heraldry,  hairy  as  a  baboon, 
and  girdled  with  green  leaves.  By  his  side,  a  nobler  figure, 
but  still  a  counterfeit,  appeared  an  Indian  hunter,  with 
feathery  crest  and  wanipum  belt.  Many  of  this  strange 
company  wore  foolscaps,  and  had  little  bells  appended  to  60 
their  garments,  tinkling  with  a  silvery  sound,  responsive  to 
the  inaudible  music  of  their  gleesome  spirits.  Some  youths 
and  maidens  were  of  soberer  garb,  yet  well  maintained  their 
places  in  the  irregular  throng,  by  the  expression  of  wild 
revelry  upon  their  features.  Such  were  the  colonists  of  65 
Merry  Mount,  as  they  stood  in  the  broad  smile  of  sunset, 
round  their  venerated  May-Pole. 

Had  a  wanderer,  bewildered  in  the  melancholy  forest, 
heard  their  mirth,  and  stolen  a  half-affrighted  glance,  he 
might  have  fancied  them  the  crew  of  Comus,  some  already  70 
transformed  to  brutes,   some   midway   between   man   and 
beast,  and  the  others  rioting  in  the  flow  of  tipsy  jollity  that 
fore-ran  the  change.     But  a  band  of  Puritans,  who  watched 
the  scene,  invisible  themselves,  compared  the  masques  to 
those  devils  and  ruined  souls  with  whom  their  superstition  75 
peopled  the  black  wilderness. 

Within  the  ring  of  monsters  appeared  the  two  airiest 
forms  that  had  ever  trodden  on  any  more  solid  footing  than 
a  purple  and  golden  cloud.  One  was  a  youth  in  glistening 
apparel,  with  a  scarf  of  the  rainbow  pattern  crosswise  on  80 
his  breast.  His  right  hand  held  a  gilded  staff,  the  ensign 
of  high  dignity  among  the  revelers,  and  his  left  grasped 
the  slender  fingers  of  a  fair  maiden,  not  less  gaily  decorated 
than  himself.  Bright  roses  glowed  in  contrast  with  the 
dark  and  glossy  curls  of  each,  and  were  scattered  round  85 
their  feet,  or  had  sprung  up  spontaneously  there.  Behind 
this  lightsome  couple,-  so  close  to  the  May-Pole  that  its 
boughs  shaded  his  jovial  face,  stood  the  figure  of  an  Eng 
lish  priest,  canonically  dressed,  yet  decked  with  flowers, 


162  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

90  in  heathen  fashion,  and  wearing  a  chaplet  of  the  native 
vine-leaves.  By  the  riot  of  his  rolling  eye,  and  the  pagan 
decorations  of  his  holy  garb,  he  seemed  the  wildest  monster 
there,  and  the  very  Comus  of  the  crew. 

"Votaries  of  the  May-Pole,"  cried  the  flower-decked 
95 priest,  "merrily,  all  day  long,  have  the  woods  echoed  to 
your  mirth.  But  be  this  your  merriest  hour,  my  hearts  ! 
Lo,  here  stand  the  Lord  and  Lady  of  the  May,  whom  I,  a 
clerk  of  Oxford,  and  high  priest  of  Merry  Mount,  am  pres 
ently  to  join  in  holy  matrimony.  Up  with  your  nimble 

100  spirits,  ye  morrice-dancers,  green  men,  and  glee-maidens, 
bears  and  wolves,  and  horned  gentlemen  !  Come  ;  a  chorus 
now,  rich  with  the  old  mirth  of  Merry  England,  and  the 
wilder  glee  of  this  fresh  forest ;  and  then  a  dance,  to  show 
the  youthful  pair  what  life  is  made  of,  and  how  airily  they 

105  should  go  through  it !  All  ye  that  love  the  May-Pole,  lend 
your  voices  to  the  nuptial  song  of  the  Lord  and  Lady  of  the 
May!" 

This  wedlock  was  more    serious    than    most    affairs    of 
Merry  Mount,  where  jest  and  delusion,  trick  and  fantasy, 

110  kept  up  a  continual  carnival.  The  Lord  and  Lady  of  the 
May,  though  their  titles  must  be  laid  down  at  sunset,  were 
really  and  truly  to  be  partners  for  the  dance  of  life,  begin 
ning  the  measure  that  same  bright  eve.  The  wreath  of 
roses,  that  hung  from  the  lowest  green  bough  of  the  May -Pole, 

115  had  been  twined  for  them,  and  would  be  thrown  over  both 
their  heads,  in  symbol  of  their  flowery  union.  When  the 
priest  had  spoken,  therefore,  a  riotous  uproar  burst  from 
the  rout  of  monstrous  figures. 

"  Begin  you   the  stave,   reverend   Sir,"    cried  they   all ; 

120  "  and  never  did  the  woods  ring  to  such  a  merry  peal,  as  we 
of  the  May -Pole  shall  send  up !  " 

Immediately  a  prelude  of  pipe,  cithern,  and  viol,  touched 
with  practised  minstrelsy,  began  to  play  from  a  neighboring 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  163 

thicket,  in  such  a  mirthful  cadence  that  the  boughs  of  the 
May-Pole  quivered  to  the  sound.     But  the  May  Lord,  he  of  125 
the  gilded  staff,  chancing  to  look  into  his  Lady's  eyes,  was 
wonder-struck  at  the  almost  pensive  glance  that  met  his 
own. 

"  Edith,  sweet  Lady  of  the  May,"  whispered  he  reproach 
fully,  "  is  yon  wreath  of  roses  a  garland  to  hang  above  our  130 
graves,  that  you  look  so  sad  ?  0  Edith,  this  is  our  golden 
time !  Tarnish  it  not  by  any  pensive  shadow  of  the  mind ; 
for  it  may  be  that  nothing  of  futurity  will  be  brighter  than 
the  mere  remembrance  of  what  is  now  passing." 

"  That  was  the  very  thought  that  saddened  me !     How  135 
came  it  in  your  mind  too  ?  "  said  Edith,  in  a  still  lower  tone 
than  he ;  for  it  was  high  treason  to  be  sad  at  Merry  Mount. 
"  Therefore  do  I  sigh  amid  this  festive  music.     And  besides, 
dear  Edgar,  I  struggle  as  with  a  dream,  and  fancy  that 
these  shapes  of  our  jovial  friends  are  visionary,  and  their  140 
mirth  unreal,  and  that  we  are  no  true  Lord  and  Lady  of  the 
May.     What  is  the  mystery  in  my  heart  ?  " 

Just  then,  as  if  a  spell  had  loosened  them,  down  came  a 
little  shower  of  withering  rose-leaves  from  the  May-Pole. 
Alas,  for  the  young  lovers !      No  sooner  had  their  hearts  145 
glowed  with  real  passion,  than  they  were  sensible  of  some 
thing  vague  and  unsubstantial  in  their  former  pleasures, 
and  felt  a  dreary  presentiment  of  inevitable  change.     From 
the    moment   that    they    truly  loved,  they    had   subjected 
themselves  to  earth's  doom  of  care  and  sorrow  and  troubled  150 
joy,  and  had  no  more  a  home  at  Merry  Mount.      That  was 
Edith's  mystery.     Now  leave  we  the  priest  to  marry  them, 
and  the  masquers  to  sport  round  the  May-Pole,  till  the  last 
sunbeam  be  withdrawn  from  its  summit,  and  the  shadows 
of  the  forest  mingle  gloomily  in  the  dance.     Meanwhile,  we  155 
may  discover  who  these  gay  people  were. 

Two  hundred  years  ago,  and  more,  the  Old  World  and  its 


164  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

inhabitants  became  mutually  weary  of  each  other.  Men 
voyaged  by  thousands  to  the  West;  some  to  barter  glass 

160  beads,  and  such  like  jewels,  for  the  furs  of  the  Indian 
hunter ;  some  to  conquer  virgin  empires ;  and  one  stern 
band  to  pray.  But  none  of  these  motives  had  much  weight 
with  the  colonists  of  Merry  Mount.  Their  leaders  were 
men  who  had  sported  so  long  with  life;  that  when  Thought 

165  and  Wisdom  came,  even  these  unwelcome  guests  were  led 
astray  by  the  crowd  of  vanities  which  they  should  have  put 
to  flight.  Erring  Thought  and  perverted  Wisdom  were 
made  to  put  on  masques,  and  play  the  fool.  The  men  of 
whom  we  speak,  after  losing  the  heart's  fresh  gaiety, 

170  imagined  a  wild  philosophy  of  pleasure,  and  came  hither  to 
act  out  their  latest  day-dream.  They  gathered  followers 
from  all  that  giddy  tribe,  whose  whole  life  is  like  the  festal 
days  of  soberer  men.  In  their  train  were  minstrels,  not 
unknown  in  London  streets;  wandering  players,  whose 

175  theatres  had  been  the  halls  of  noblemen,  mummers,  rope- 
dancers,  and  mountebanks,  who  would  long  be  missed  at 
wakes,  church  ales,  and  fairs ;  in  a  word,  mirth-makers  of 
every  sort,  such  as  abounded  in  that  age,  but  now  began  to 
be  discountenanced  by  the  rapid  growth  of  Puritanism. 

180  Light  had  their  footsteps  been  on  land,  and  as  lightly  they 
came  across  the  sea.  Many  had  been  maddened  by  their 
previous  troubles  into  a  gay  despair ;  others  were  as  madly 
gay  in  the  flush  of  youth,  like  the  May  Lord  and  his  Lady ; 
but  whatever  might  be  the  quality  of  their  mirth,  old  and 

185  young  were  gay  at  Merry  Mount.  The  young  deemed 
themselves  happy.  The  elder  spirits,  if  they  knew  that 
mirth  was  but  the  counterfeit  of  happiness,  yet  followed 
the  false  shadow  wilfully,  because  at  least  her  garments 
glittered  brightest.  Sworn  triflers  of  a  lifetime,  they  would 

190  not  venture  among  the  sober  truths  of  life,  not  even  to  be 
truly  blest. 


NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE  165 

All  the  hereditary  pastimes  of  Old  England  were  trans 
planted  hither.  The  King  of  Christmas  was  duly  crowned, 
and  the  Lord  of  Misrule  bore  potent  sway.  On  the  eve  of 
Saint  John,  they  felled  whole  acres  of  the  forest  to  make  195 
bonfires,  and  danced  by  the  blaze  all  night,  crowned  with 
garlands,  and  throwing  flowers  into  the  flame.  At  harvest- 
time,  though  their  crop  was  of  the  smallest,  they  made  an 
image  with  the  sheaves  of  Indian  corn,  and  wreathed  it 
with  autumnal  garlands,  and  bore  it  home  triumphantly.  200 
But  what  chiefly  characterized  the  colonists  of  Merry 
Mount  was  their  veneration  for  the  May-Pole.  It  has  made 
their  true  history  a  poet's  tale.  Spring  decked  the  hallowed 
emblem  with  young  blossoms  and  fresh  green  boughs; 
Summer  brought  roses  of  the  deepest  blush,  and  the  per-  205 
f ected  foliage  of  the  forest ;  Autumn  enriched  it  with  that 
red  and  yellow  gorgeousness,  which  converts  each  wildwood 
leaf  into  a  painted  flower ;  and  Winter  silvered  it  with  sleet, 
and  hung  it  round  with  icicles,  till  it  flashed  in  the  cold 
sunshine,  itself  a  frozen  sunbeam.  Thus  each  alternate  210 
season  did  homage  to  the  May-Pole,  and  paid  it  a  tribute  of 
its  own  richest  splendor.  Its  votaries  danced  round  it, 
once,  at  least,  in  every  month;  sometimes  they  called  it 
their  religion,  or  their  altar ;  but  always,  it  was  the  banner 
staff  of  Merry  Mount.  215 

Unfortunately,  there  were  men  in  the  New  World  of  a 
sterner  faith  than  these  May-Pole  worshippers.  Not  far 
from  Merry  Mount  was  a  settlement  of  Puritans,  most  dis 
mal  wretches,  who  said  their  prayers  before  daylight,  and 
then  wrought  in  the  forest  or  the  cornfield  till  evening  220 
made  it  prayer-time  again.  Their  weapons  were  always  at 
hand,  to  shoot  down  the  straggling  savage.  When  they 
met  in  conclave,  it  was  never  to  keep  up  the  old  English 
mirth,  but  to  hear  sermons  three  hours  long,  or  to  proclaim 
bounties  on  the  heads  of  wolves  and  the  scalps  of  Indians.  225 


166  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Their  festivals  were  fast-days,  and  their  chief  pastime  the 
singing  of  psalms.  Woe  to  the  youth  or  maiden  who  did 
but  dream  of  a  dance!  The  selectman  nodded  to  the  con 
stable;  and  there  sat  the  light-heeled  reprobate  in  the 
230  stocks ;  or  if  he  danced,  it  was  round  the  whipping-post,, 
which  might  be  termed  the  Puritan  May-Pole. 

A  party  of  these  grim  Puritans,  toiling  through  the  diffi 
cult  woods,  each  with  a  horse-load  of  iron  armor  to  burthen 
his  footsteps,  would  sometimes  draw  near  the  sunny  pre- 
235  cincts  of  Merry  Mount.  There  were  the  silken  colonists,, 
sporting  round  their  May-Pole ;  perhaps  teaching  a  bear  to 
dance,  or  striving  to  communicate  their  mirth  to  the  grave 
Indian ;  or  masquerading  in  the  skins  of  dee?  and  wolves, 
which  they  had  hunted  for  that  especial  purpose.  Often,. 
240  the  whole  colony  were  playing  at  blind-man's  buff,  magis 
trates  and  all  with  their  eyes  bandaged,  except  a  single 
scape-goat,  whom  the  blinded  sinners  pursued  by  the  tink 
ling  of  the  bells  at  his  garments.  Once,  it  is  said,  they  were 
seen  following  a  flower-decked  corpse,  with  merriment  and 
245  festive  music,  to  his  grave.  But  did  the  dead  man  laugh  ? 
In  their  quietest  times,  they  sang  ballads  and  told  tales,  for 
the  edification  of  their  pious  visitors ;  or  perplexed  them 
with  juggling  tricks  ;  or  grinned  at  them  through  horse- 
collars  ;  and  when  sport  itself  grew  wearisome,  they  made 
250  game  of  their  own  stupidity,  and  began  a  yawning  match. 
At  the  very  least  of  these  enormities,  the  men  of  iron 
shook  their  heads  and  frowned  so  darkly,  that  the  revelers 
looked  up,  imagining  that  a  momentary  cloud  had  overcast 
the  sunshine,  which  was  to  be  perpetual  there.  On  the 
255  other  hand,  the  Puritans  affirmed,  that,  when  a  psalm  was 
pealing  from  their  place  of  worship,  the  echo  which  the 
forest  sent  them  back  seemed  often  like  the  chorus  of  a 
jolly  catch,  closing  with  a  roar  of  laughter.  Who  but  the 
fiend,  and  his  bond-slaves,  the  crew  of  Merry  Mount,  had 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  167 

thus  disturbed  them  ?     In  due  time,  a  feud  arose,  stern  and  260 
bitter  on  one  side,  and  as  serious  on  the  other  as  anything 
could  be  among  such  light  spirits  as  had  sworn  allegiance 
to  the  May-Pole.     The  future  complexion  of  New  England 
was  involved  in  this  important  quarrel.     Should  the  grizzly 
saints  establish  their  jurisdiction  over  the  gay  sinners,  then  265 
would  their  spirits  darken  all  the  clime,  and  make  it  a  land 
of  clouded  visages,  of  hard  toil,  of  sermon  and  psalin  for 
ever.     But   should   the   banner-staff   of    Merry   Mount   be 
fortunate,  sunshine  would  break  upon  the  hills  and  flowers 
would  beautify  the  forest,  and  late  posterity  do  homage  to  270 
the  May-Pole. 

After  these  authentic  passages  from  history,  we  return  to 
the  nuptials  of  the  Lord  and  Lady  of  the  May.  Alas !  we 
have  delayed  too  long,  and  must  darken  our  tale  too  sud 
denly.  As  we  glance  again  at  the  May-Pole,  a  solitary  sun-  275 
beam  is  fading  from  the  summit,  and  leaves  only  a  faint, 
golden  tinge,  blended  with  the  hues  of  the  rainbow  banner. 
Even  that  dim  light  is  now  withdrawn,  relinquishing  the 
whole  domain  of  Merry  Mount  to  the  evening  gloom,  which 
has  rushed  so  instantaneously  from  the  black  surrounding  280 
woods.  But  some  of  these  black  shadows  have  rushed  forth 
in  human  shape. 

Yes ;  with  the  setting  sun,  the  last  day  of  mirth  had 
passed  from  Merry  Mount.  The  ring  of  gay  masquers  was 
disordered  and  broken ;  the  stag  lowered  his  antlers  in  dis-  285 
may ;  the  wolf  grew  weaker  than  a  lamb ;  the  bells  of  the 
morrice-dancers  tinkled  with  tremulous  affright.  The  Puri 
tans  had  played  a  characteristic  part  in  the  May-Pole  mum 
meries.  Their  darksome  figures  were  intermixed  with  the 
wild  shapes  of  their  foes,  and  made  the  scene  a  picture  of  290 
the  moment,  when  waking  thoughts  start  up  amid  the 
scattered  fantasies  of  a  dream.  The  leader  of  the  hostile 
party  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  circle,  while  the  rout  of 


168  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

monsters  cowered  around  him,  like  evil  spirits  in  the  pres« 

295  ence  of  a  dread  magician.  No  fantastic  foolery  could  look 
him  in  the  face.  So  stern  was  the  energy  of  his  aspect,  that 
the  whole  man,  visage,  frame,  and  soul,  seemed  wrought  of 
iron,  gifted  with  life  and  thought,  yet  all  of  one  substance 
with  his  head-piece  and  breast-plate.  It  was  the  Puritan 

300  of  Puritans ;  it  was  Endicott  himself ! 

"  Stand  off,  priest  of  Baal !  "  said  he,  with  a  grim  frown, 
and  laying  no  reverent  hand  upon  the  surplice.  "  I  know 
thee,  Blackstone !  Thou  art  the  man  who  couldst  not  abide 
the  rule  even  of  thine  own  corrupted  church,  and  hast  come 

305  hither  to  preach  iniquity,  and  to  give  example  of  it  in  thy 
life.  But  now  shall  it  be  seen  that  the  Lord  hath  sanctified 
this  wilderness  for  his  peculiar  people.  Woe  unto  them 
that  would  defile  it!  And  first,  for  this  flower-decked 
abomination,  the  altar  of  thy  worship !  " 

310  And  with  his  keen  sword  Endicott  assaulted  the  hallowed 
May-Pole.  Nor  long  did  it  resist  his  arm.  It  groaned  with 
a  dismal  sound ;  it  showered  leaves  and  rosebuds  upon  the 
remorseless  enthusiast;  and  finally,  with  all  its  green 
boughs,  and  ribbons,  and  flowers,  symbolic  of  departed 

315  pleasures,  down  fell  the  banner-staff  of  Merry  Mount.  As 
it  sank,  tradition  says,  the  evening  sky  grew  darker,  and 
the  woods  threw  forth  a  more  sombre  shadow. 

"There,"  cried  Endicott,  looking  triumphantly  on  his 
work,  — "  there  lies  the  only  May-Pole  in  New  England ! 

320  The  thought  is  strong  within  me,  that,  by  its  fall,  is  shad 
owed  forth  the  fate  of  light  and  idle  mirth-makers,  amongst 
us  and  our  posterity.     Amen,  saith  John  Endicott." 
"  Amen  !  "  echoed  his  followers. 
But  the  votaries  of  the  May-Pole  gave  one  groan  for  their 

325  idol.  At  the  sound,  the  Puritan  leader  glanced  at  the  crew 
of  Comus,  each  a  figure  of  broad  mirth,  yet,  at  this  moment, 
strangely  expressive  of  sorrow  and  dismay. 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  169 

"  Valiant  captain,"  quoth  Peter  Palfrey,  the  Ancient  of 
the  band,  "  what  order  shall  be  taken  with  the  prisoners  ?  " 

"I  thought  not  to  repent  me  of  cutting  down  a  May- 330 
Pole,"  replied  Endicott,  "  yet  now  I  could  find  in  my  heart 
to  plant  it  again,  and  give  each  of  these  bestial  pagans  one 
other  dance  round  their  idol.     It  would  have  served  rarely 
for  a  whipping-post ! " 

"  But  there  are  pinetrees  enow,"  suggested  the  lieutenant.  335 

"True,  good  Ancient,"  said  the  leader.  "Wherefore, 
bind  the  heathen  crew,  and  bestow  on  them  a  small  matter 
of  stripes  apiece,  as  earnest  of  our  future  justice.  Set  some 
of  the  rogues  in  the  stocks  to  rest  themselves,  so  soon  as 
Providence  shall  bring  us  to  one  of  our  own  well-ordered  340 
settlements,  where  such  accommodations  may  be  found. 
Further  penalties,  such  as  branding  and  cropping  of  ears, 
shall  be  thought  of  hereafter." 

"  How  many  stripes  for  the  priest  ?  "  inquired  Ancient 
Palfrey.  345 

"None  as  yet,"  answered  Endicott,  bending  his  iron 
frown  upon  the  culprit.  "It  must  be  for  the  Great  and 
General  Court  to  determine  whether  stripes  and  long  im 
prisonment,  and  other  grievous  penalty,  may  atone  for  his 
transgressions.  Let  him  look  to  himself !  For  such  as  vio-  350 
late  our  civil  order,  it  may  be  permitted  us  to  show  mercy. 
But  woe  to  the  wretch  that  troubleth  our  religion ! " 

"  And  this  dancing  bear,"  resumed  the  officer.     "  Must  he 
share  the  stripes  of  his  fellows  ?  " 

"  Shoot  him  through  the  head  ! "  said  the  energetic  Puri-  355 
tan.     "I  suspect  witchcraft  in  the  beast." 

"  Here  be  a  couple  of  shining  ones,"  continued  Peter  Pal 
frey,  pointing  his  weapon  at  the  Lord  and  Lady  of  the  May. 
"They  seem  to  be  of  high  station  among  these  misdoers. 
Methinks  their  dignity  will  not  be  fitted  with  less  than  a  360 
double  share  of  stripes." 


170  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Endicott  rested  on  his  sword,  and  closely  surveyed  the 
dress  and  aspect  of  the  hapless  pair.  There  they  stood, 
pale,  downcast,  and  apprehensive.  Yet  there  was  an  air  of 

365  mutual  support,  and  of  pure  affection,  seeking  aid  and  giv 
ing  it,  that  showed  them  to  be  man  and  wife,  with  the  sanc 
tion  of  a  priest  upon  their  love.  The  youth,  in  the  peril  of 
the  moment,  had  dropped  his  gilded  staff,  and  thrown  his 
arm  about  the  Lady  of  the  May,  who  leaned  against  his 

370  breast,  too  lightly  to  burthen  him,  but  with  weight  enough 
to  express  that  their  destinies  were  linked  together,  for 
good  or  evil.  They  looked  first  at  each  other,  and  then  into, 
the  grim  captain's  face.  There  they  stood,  in  the  first  hour 
of  wedlock,  while  the  idle  pleasures,  of  which  their  com- 

375  panions  were  the  emblems,  had  given  place  to  the  sternest 
cares  of  life,  personified  by  the  dark  Puritans.  But  never 
had  their  youthful  beauty  seemed  so  pure  and  high,  as  when 
its  glow  was  chastened  by  adversity. 

"  Youth,'7  said  Endicott,  "  ye  stand  in  an  evil  case,  thou 

380 and  thy  maiden  wife.  Make  ready  presently;  for  I  am 
minded  that  ye  shall  both  have  a  token  to  remember  your 
wedding-day ! " 

"  Stern  man,"  cried  the  May  Lord,  "  how  can  I  move  thee  ? 
Were  the  means  at  hand,  I  would  resist  to  the  death.  Be- 

385  ing  powerless,  I  entreat !  Do  with  me  as  thou  wilt,  but  let 
Edith  go  untouched ! " 

"Not  so,"  replied  the  immitigable  zealot.  "We  are  not 
wont  to  show  an  idle  courtesy  to  that  sex,  which  requireth 
the  stricter  discipline.  What  sayest  thou,  maid  ?  Shall 

390  thy  silken  bridegroom  suffer  thy  share  of  the  penalty,  be 
sides  his  own  ?  " 

"  Be  it  death,"  said  Edith,  "  and  lay  it  all  on  me!  " 
Truly,  as  Endicott  had  said,  the  poor  lovers  stood  in  a 
woful  case.     Their  foes  were  triumphant,  their  friends  cap- 

395  tive  and  abased,  their  home  desolate,  the  benighted  wilder- 


NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE  171 

ness  around  them,  and  a  rigorous  destiny,  in  the  shape  of 
the  Puritan  leader,  their  only  guide.  Yet  the  deepening 
twilight  could  not  altogether  conceal  that  the  iron  man  was 
.softened ;  he  smiled  at  the  fair  spectacle  of  early  love ;  he 
;almost  sighed  for  the  inevitable  blight  of  early  hopes.  400 

"The  troubles  of  life  have  come  hastily  on  this  young 
•couple,"  observed  Endicott.  "  We  will  see  how  they  com 
port  themselves  under  their  present  trials,  ere  we  burthen 
them  with  greater.  If,  among  the  spoil,  there  be  any  gar 
ments  of  a  more  decent  fashion,  let  them  be  put  upon  this  405 
May  Lord  and  his  Lady,  instead  of  their  glistening  vanities. 
Look  to  it,  some  of  you." 

"  And  shall  not  the  youth's  hair  be  cut  ?  "  asked  Peter 
Palfrey,  looking  with  abhorrence  at  the  love-lock  and  long 
glossy  curls  of  the  young  man.  410 

"  Crop  it  forthwith,  and  that  in  the  true  pumpkin-shell 
fashion,"  answered  the  captain.  "  Then  bring  them  along 
with  us,  but  more  gently  than  their  fellows.  There  be 
-qualities  in  the  youth,  which  may  make  him  valiant  to  fight, 
-and  sober  to  toil,  and  pious  to  pray ;  and  in  the  maiden,  415 
that  may  fit  her  to  become  a  mother  in  our  Israel,  bringing 
up  babes  in  better  nurture  than  her  own  hath  been.  Nor 
think  ye,  young  ones,  that  they  are  the  happiest,  even  in 
our  lifetime  of  a  moment,  who  misspend  it  in  dancing  round 
a,  May-Pole !  "  420 

And  Endicott,  the  severest  Puritan  of  all  who  laid  the 
rock-foundation  of  New  England,  lifted  the  wreath  of  roses 
from  the  ruin  of  the  May-Pole,  and  threw  it,  with  his  own 
gauntleted  hand,  over  the  heads  of  the  Lord  and  Lady  of  the 
May.  It  was  a  deed  of  prophecy.  As  the  moral  gloom  of  425 
the  world  overpowers  all  systematic  gaiety,  even  so  was 
their  home  of  wild  mirth  made  desolate  amid  the  sad  forest. 
They  returned  to  it  no  more.  But,  as  their  flowery  garland 
was  wreathed  of  the  brightest  roses  that  had  grown  there, 


172  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

430  so,  in  the  tie  that  united  them,  were  intertwined  all  the 
purest  and  best  of  their  early  joys.  They  went  heaven 
ward,  supporting  each  other  along  the  difficult  path  which 
it  was  their  lot  to  tread,  and  never  wasted  one  regretful 
thought  on  the  vanities  of  Merry  Mount. 

Browne's  Wooden  Image 

One  sunshiny  morning,  in  the  good  old  times  of  the  town  of 
Boston,  a  young  carver  in  wood,  well  known  by  the  name 
of  Drowne,  stood  contemplating  a  large  oaken  log,  which  it 
was  his  purpose  to  convert  into  the  figure-head  of  a  vessel. 
5  And  while  he  discussed  within  his  own  mind  what  sort  of 
shape  or  similitude  it  were  well  to  bestow  upon  this  excellent 
piece  of  timber,  there  came  into  Drowne's  workshop  a  cer 
tain  Captain  Hunnewell,  owner  and  commander  of  the  good 
brig  called  the  Cynosure,  which  had  just  returned  from  her 

10  first  voyage  to  Fayal. 

"  Ah !  that  will  do,  Drowne,  that  will  do ! "  cried  the 
jolly  captain,  tapping  the  log  with  his  rattan.  "  I  bespeak 
this  very  piece  of  oak  for  the  figure-head  of  the  Cynosure. 
She  has  shown  herself  the  sweetest  craft  that  ever  floated, 

15  and  I  mean  to  decorate  her  prow  with  the  handsomest  image 
that  the  skill  of  man  can  cut  out  of  timber.  And,  Drowne, 
you  are  the  fellow  to  execute  it." 

"  You  give  me  more  credit  than  I  deserve,  Captain  Hunne 
well,"  said  the  carver,  modestly,  yet  as  one  conscious  of 

20  eminence  in  his  art.  "  But,  for  the  sake  of  the  good  brig,  I 
stand  ready  to  do  my  best.  And  which  of  these  designs 
do  you  prefer  ?  Here,"  —  pointing  to  a  staring,  half-length 
figure,  in  a  white  wig  and  scarlet  coat,  — "  here  is  an  ex 
cellent  model,  the  likeness  of  our  gracious  king.  Here  is 

25  the  valiant  Admiral  Vernon.  Or,  if  you  prefer  a  female 
figure,  what  say  you  to  Britannia  with  the  trident  ?  " 


NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE  173 

"All  very  fine,  Drowne ;  all  very  fine/'  answered  the 
mariner.  "  But  as  nothing  like  the  brig  ever  swam  the 
ocean,  so  I  am  determined  she  shall  have  such  a  figure-head 
as  old  Neptune  never  saw  in  his  life.  And  what  is  more,  30 
as  there  is  a  secret  in  the  matter,  you  must  pledge  your 
credit  not  to  betray  it.'7 

"  Certainly,"   said   Drowne,   marvelling,   however,    what 
possible  mystery  there  could  be  in  reference  to  an  affair  so 
open,  of  necessity,  to  the  inspection  of  all  the  world  as  the  35 
figure-head  of  a  vessel.     "  You  may  depend,  captain,  on  my 
being  as  secret  as  the  nature  of  the  case  will  permit." 

Captain  Hunnewell  then  took  Drowne  by  the  button,  and 
communicated  his  wishes  in  so  low  a  tone  that  it  would  be 
unmannerly  to  repeat  what  was  evidently  intended  for  the  40 
carver's  private  ear.  We  shall,  therefore,  take  the  opportu 
nity  to  give  the  reader  a  few  desirable  particulars  about 
Drowne  himself. 

He  was  the  first  American  who  is  known  to  have  at 
tempted —  in  a  very  humble  line,  it  is  true  —  that  art  in  45 
which  we  can  now  reckon  so  many  names  already  distin 
guished,  or  rising  to  distinction.  From  his  earliest  boyhood 
he  had  exhibited  a  knack  —  for  it  would  be  too  proud  a 
word  to  call  it  genius  —  a  knack,  therefore,  for  the  imitation 
of  the  human  figure  in  whatever  material  came  most  readily  50 
to  hand.  The  snows  of  a  New  England  winter  had  often 
supplied  him  with  a  species  of  marble  as  dazzlingly  white, 
at  least,  as  the  Parian  or  the  Carrara,  and  if  less  durable, 
yet  sufficiently  so  to  correspond  with  any  claims  to  permanent 
existence  possessed  by  the  boy's  frozen  statues.  Yet  they  55 
won  admiration  from  maturer  judges  than  his  school-fellows, 
and  were  indeed,  remarkably  clever,  though  destitute  of  the 
native  warmth  that  might  have  made  the  snow  melt  beneath 
his  hand.  As  he  advanced  in  life,  the  young  man  adopted 
pine  and  oak  as  eligible  materials  for  the  display  of  his  60 


174  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

skill,  which  now  began  to  bring  him  a  return  of  solid  silver 
as  well  as  the  empty  praise  that  had  been  an  apt  reward 
enough  for  his  productions  of  evanescent  snow.  He  became 
noted  for  carving  ornamental  pump  heads,  and  wooden  urns 

65  for  gate  posts,  and  decorations,  more  grotesque  than  fanci 
ful,  for  mantelpieces.  No  apothecary  would  have  deemed 
himself  in  the  way  of  obtaining  custom  without  setting  up 
a  gilded  mortar,  if  not  a  head  of  Galen  or  Hippocrates, 
from  the  skilful  hand  of  Drowne. 

70  But  the  great  scope  of  his  business  lay  in  the  manu 
facture  of  figure-heads  for  vessels.  Whether  it  were 
the  monarch  himself,  or  some  famous  British  admiral 
or  general,  or  the  governor  of  the  province,  or  perchance 
the  favorite  daughter  of  the  ship-owner,  there  the  image  stood 

75  above  the  prow,  decked  out  in  gorgeous  colors,  magnificently 
gilded,  and  staring  the  whole  world  out  of  countenance,  as 
if  from  an  innate  consciousness  of  its  own  superiority. 
These  specimens  of  native  sculpture  had  crossed  the  sea 
in  all  directions,  and  been  not  ignobly  noticed  among  the 

80  crowded  shipping  of  the  Thames  and  wherever  else  the 
hardy  mariners  of  New  England  had  pushed  their  ad 
ventures.  It  must  be  confessed  that  a  family  likeness 
pervaded  these  respectable  progeny  of  Drowne's  skill ;  that 
the  benign  countenance  of  the  king  resembled  those  of  his 

85  subjects,  and  that  Miss  Peggy  Hobart,  the  merchant's 
daughter,  bore  a  remarkable  similitude  to  Britannia,  Vic 
tory,  and  other  ladies  of  the  allegoric  sisterhood;  and, 
finally,  that  they  all  had  a  kind  of  wooden  aspect  which 
proved  an  intimate  relationship  with  the  unshaped  blocks 

90  of  timber  in  the  carver's  workshop.  But  at  least  there  was 
no  inconsiderable  skill  of  hand,  nor  a  deficiency  of  any 
attribute  to  render  them  really  works  of  art,  except  that 
deep  quality,  be  it  of  soul  or  intellect,  which  bestows  life 
upon  the  lifeless  and  vrarmth  upon  the  cold,  and  which, 


NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE  175 

had  it  been  present,  would  have  made   Drowne's   wooden  95 
image  instinct  with  spirit. 

The  captain  of  the  Cynosure   had   now  finished  his  in 
structions. 

"  And  Drowne,"  said  he,  impressively,    "  you   must  lay 
aside  all  other  business  and  set  about  this  forthwith.     And  100 
as  to  the  price,  only  do  the  job  in  first-rate  style,  and  you 
shall  settle  that  point  yourself." 

"  Very  well,  captain,"  answered  the  carver,  who  looked 
grave  and  somewhat  perplexed,  yet  had   a   sort   of   smile 
upon  his  visage ;  "  depend  upon   it,  I'll  do  my  utmost  to  105 
satisfy  you." 

From  that  moment  the  men  of  taste  about  Long  Wharf 
and  the  Town  Dock  who  were  wont  to  show  their  love  for  the 
arts  by  frequent  visits  to  Drowne's  workshop,  and  admira 
tion  of  his  wooden  images,  began  to  be  sensible  of  a  mystery  110 
in  the  carver's  conduct.     Often  he  was  absent  in  the  day 
time.     Sometimes,  as  might  be  judged  by  gleams  of  light 
from  the  snop  windows,  he  was  at  work  until  a  late  hour 
of  the  evening ;  although  neither  knock  nor  voice,  on  such 
occasions,  could  gain  admittance  for  a  visitor,  or  elicit  any  115 
word  of  response.     Nothing  remarkable,  however,  was  ob 
served  in  the  shop  at  those  hours  when  it  was  thrown  open. 
A  fine  piece  of  timber,  indeed,  which  Drowne  was  known 
to  have  reserved  for  some  work  of   especial   dignity,  was 
seen  to  be  gradually  assuming  shape.     What  shape  it  was  120 
destined  ultimately  to  take   was  a  problem  to  his  friends 
and  a  point  on  which  the  carver  himself  preserved  a  rigid 
silence.     But  day  after  day,  though  Drowne   was    seldom 
noticed  in  the  act  of  working  upon  it,  this  rude  form  began 
to  be  developed  until  it  became   evident  to   all   observers  125 
that  a  female  figure  was  growing  into  mimic  life.     At  each 
new  visit  they  beheld  a  larger  pile  of  wooden  chips  and  a 
nearer  approximation  to  something  beautiful.     It   seemed 


176  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

as   if   the   hamadryad   of   the   oak   had   sheltered    herself 

130  from  the  unimaginative  world  within  the  heart  of  her 
native  tree,  and  that  it  was  only  necessary  to  remove 
the  strange  shapelessness  that  had  incrusted  her,  and  reveal 
the  grace  and  loveliness  of  a  divinity.  Imperfect  as  the 
design,  the  attitude,  the  costume,  and  especially  the  face 

135  of  the  image  still  remained,  there  was  already  an  effect 
that  drew  the  eye  from  the  wooden  cleverness  of  Browne's 
earlier  productions  and  fixed  it  upon  the  tantalizing  mys 
tery  of  this  new  project. 

Copley,  the  celebrated  painter,  then  a  young  man  and  a 

140  resident  of  Boston,  came  one  day  to  visit  Drowne ;  for  he 
had  recognized  so  much  of  moderate  ability  in  the  carver 
as  to  induce  him,  in  the  dearth  of  professional  sympathy, 
to  cultivate  his  acquaintance.  On  entering  the  shop,  the 
artist  glanced  at  the  inflexible  image  of  king,  commander, 

145  dame,  and  allegory,  that  stood  around,  on  the  best  of  which 
might  have  been  bestowed  the  questionable  praise  that  it 
looked  as  if  a  living  man  had  here  been  changed  to  wood, 
and  that  not  only  the  physical,  but  the  intellectual  and 
spiritual  part,  partook  of  the  stolid  transformation.  But 

150  in  not  a  single  instance  did  it  seem  as  if  the  wood  were  im 
bibing  the  ethereal  essence  of  humanity.  What  a  wide 
distinction  is  here !  and  how  far  would  the  slightest  portion 
of  the  latter  merit  have  outvalued  the  utmost  degree  of  the 
former ! 

155  "My  friend  Drowne,"  said  Copley,  smiling  to  himself, 
but  alluding  to  the  mechanical  and  wooden  cleverness  that 
so  invariably  distinguished  the  images,  "you  are  really  a 
remarkable  person !  I  have  seldom  met  with  a  man  in  your 
line  of  business  that  could  do  so  much ;  for  one  other  touch 

160  might  make  this  figure  of  General  Wolfe,  for  instance,  a 
breathing  and  intelligent  human  creature." 

"  You  would  have  me  think   that  you   are  praising  me 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  177 

highly,  Mr.  Copley,"  answered  Drowne,  turning  his  back 
upon  Wolfe's  image  in  apparent  disgust.     "  But  there  has 
come  a  light  into  my  mind.     I  know,  what  you  know  as  165 
well,  that  the  one  touch  which  you  speak  of  as  deficient 
is  the  only  one  that  would  be  truly  valuable,  and  that  with 
out  it  these  works  of  mine  are  no  better  than   worthless 
abortions.     There  is  the  same  difference  between  them  and 
the  works  of  an  inspired  artist  as  between  a  sign-post  daub  170 
and  one  of  your  best  pictures." 

"  This  is  strange,"  cried  Copley,  looking  him  in  the  face, 
which  now,  as  the  painter  fancied,  had  a  singular  depth  of 
intelligence,  though  hitherto  it  had  not  given  him  greatly 
the  advantage  over  his  own  family  of  wooden  images.  175 
"  What  has  come  over  you  ?  How  is  it  that,  possessing  the 
idea  which  you  have  now  uttered,  you  should  produce  only 
such  works  as  these  ?  " 

The  carver  smiled,  but  made  no  reply.     Copley  turned 
again  to  the  images,  conceiving  that  the  sense  of  deficiency  180 
which  Drowne  had  just  expressed,  and  which  is  so  rare  in  a 
merely  mechanical  character,  must  surely  imply  a  genius, 
the  tokens  of  which  had  heretofore  been  overlooked.     But 
no ;  there  was  not  a  trace  of  it.     He  was  about  to  withdraw 
when  his  eyes  chanced  to  fall  upon  a  half-developed  figure  185 
which  lay  in  a  corner  of  the  workshop,  surrounded  by  scat 
tered  chips  of  oak.     It  arrested  him  at  once. 

"  What  is  here  ?     Who  has  done  this  ?  "  he  broke  out, 
after  contemplating  it  in  speechless  astonishment  for  an 
instant.     "  Here  is  the  divine,  the  life-giving  touch.     What  190 
inspired  hand  is  beckoning  this  wood  to  arise  and  live  ? 
Whose  work  is  this  ?" 

"  No  man's  work,"  replied  Drowne.      "  The  figure  lies 
within  that  block  of  oak,  and  it  is  my  business  to  find  it." 

"  Drowne,"  said  the  true  artist,  grasping  the  carver  f er- 195 
vently  by  the  hand,  "  you  are  a  man  of  genius  ! " 


178  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

As  Copley  departed,  happening  to  glance  backward  from 
the  threshold,  he  beheld  Drowne  bending  over  the  half- 
created  shape,  and  stretching  forth  his  arms  as  if  he  would 

200  have  embraced  and  drawn  it  to  his  heart ;  while,  had  such 
a  miracle  been  possible,  his  countenance  expressed  passion 
enough  to  communicate  warmth  and  sensibility  to  the  life 
less  oak. 

"  Strange  enough  ! "  said  the  artist  to  himself.     "  Who 

205  would  have  looked  for  a  modern  Pygmalion  in  the  person 
of  a  Yankee  mechanic  ! " 

As  yet,  the  image  was  but  vague  in  its  outward  present 
ment  ;  so  that,  as  in  the  cloud  shapes  around  the  western 
sun,  the  observer  rather  felt,  or  was  led  to  imagine,  than 

210  really  saw  what  was  intended  by  it.  Day  by  day,  however, 
the  work  assumed  greater  precision,  and  settled  its  irregu 
lar  and  misty  outline  into  distincter  grace  and  beauty.  The 
general  design  was  now  obvious  to  the  common  eye.  It 
was  a  female  figure,  in  what  appeared  to  be  a  foreign  dress  ; 

215  the  gown  being  laced  over  the  bosom,  and  opening  in  front 
so  as  to  disclose  a  skirt  or  petticoat,  the  folds  and  inequali 
ties  of  which  were  admirably  represented  in  the  oaken 
substance.  She  wore  a  hat  of  singular  gracefulness,  and 
abundantly  laden  with  flowers,  such  as  never  grew  in  the 

220  rude  soil  of  New  England,  but  which,  with  all  their  fanci 
ful  luxuriance,  had  a  natural  truth  that  it  seemed  impossi 
ble  for  the  most  fertile  imagination  to  have  attained 
without  copying  from  real  prototypes.  There  were  several 
little  appendages  to  this  dress,  such  as  a  fan,  a  pair  of  ear- 

225  rings,  a  chain  about  the  neck,  a  watch  in  the  bosom,  and  a 
ring  upon  the  finger,  all  of  which  would  have  been  deemed 
beneath  the  dignity  of  sculpture.  They  were  put  on,  how 
ever,  with  as  much  taste  as  a  lovely  woman  might  have 
shown  in  her  attire,  and  could  therefore  have  shocked  none 

230  but  a  judgment  spoiled  by  artistic  rules. 


NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE  179 

The  face  was  still  imperfect ;  but  gradually,  by  a  magic 
touch,  intelligence  and  sensibility  brightened  through  the 
features,  with  all  the  effect  of  light  gleaming  forth  from 
within  the  solid  oak.  The  face  became  alive.  It  was  a 
beautiful,  though  not  precisely  regular  and  somewhat  235 
haughty  aspect,  but  with  a  certain  piquancy  about  the  eyes 
and  mouth,  which,  of  all  expressions,  would  have  seemed 
the  most  impossible  to  throw  over  a  wooden  countenance. 
And  now,  so  far  as  carving  went,  this  wonderful  production 
was  complete.  240 

"  Drowne,"  said  Copley,  who  had  hardly  missed  a  single 
day  in  his  visits  to  the  carver's  workshop,  "  if  this  work 
were  in  marble  it  would  make  you  famous  at  once ;  nay,  I 
would  almost  affirm  that  it  would  make  an  era  in  the  art. 
It  is  as  ideal  as  an  antique  statue,  and  yet  as  real  as  any  245 
lovely  woman  whom  one  meets  at  a  fireside  or  in  the  street. 
But  I  trust  you  do  not  mean  to  desecrate  this  exquisite 
creature  with  paint,  like  those  staring  kings  and  admirals 
yonder  ?  " 

"Not  paint  her!"  exclaimed   Captain   Hunnewell,  who 250 
stood   by ;  "  not   paint   the  figure-head   of  the   Cynosure ! 
And  what  sort  of  a  figure  should  I  cut  in  a  foreign  port 
with  such  an  unpainted  oaken  stick  as  this  over  my  prow ! 
She  must,  and  she  shall,  be  painted  to  the  life,  from  the 
topmost  flower  in  her  hat  down  to  the  silver  spangles  on  255 
her  slippers." 

"  Mr.  Copley,"  said  Drowne,  quietly,  "  I  know  nothing  of 
marble  statuary,  and  nothing  of  the  sculptor's  rules  of  art ; 
but  of  this  wooden  image,  this  work  of  my  hands,  this 
creature  of  my  heart,"  —  and  here  his  voice  faltered  and  260 
choked  in  a  very  singular  manner,  —  "of  this  —  of  her  — 
I  may  say  that  I  know  something.  A  well-spring  of  inward 
wisdom  gushed  within  me  as  I  wrought  upon  the  oak  with 
my  whole  strength,  atid  soul,  and  faith.  Let  others  do 


180  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

265  what  they  may  with  marble,  and  adopt  what  rules  they 
choose.  If  I  can  produce  my  desired  effect  by  painted 
wood,  those  rules  are  not  for  me,  and  I  have  a  right  to  dis 
regard  them." 

"  The  very  spirit  of  genius,'7  muttered  Copley  to  himself. 

270  "  How  otherwise  should  this  carver  feel  himself  entitled  to 
transcend  all  rules,  and  make  me  ashamed  of  quoting 
them  ?  " 

He  looked  earnestly  at  Drowne,  and  again  saw  that  ex 
pression  of  human  love  which,  in  a  spiritual  sense,  as  the 

275  artist  could  not  help  imagining,  was  the  secret  of  the  life 
that  had  been  breathed  into  this  block  of  wood. 

The  carver,  still  in  the  same  secrecy  that  marked  all  his 
operations  upon  this  mysterious  image,  proceeded  to  paint 
the  habiliments  in  their  proper  colors,  and  the  countenance 

280  with  Nature's  red  and  white.  When  all  was  finished  he 
threw  open  his  workshop,  and  admitted  the  townspeople  to 
behold  what  he  had  done.  Most  persons,  at  their  first  en 
trance,  felt  impelled  to  remove  their  hats,  and  pay  such  rev 
erence  as  was  due  to  the  richly-dressed  and  beautiful  young 

285  lady  who  seemed  to  stand  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  with 
oaken  chips  and  shavings  scattered  at  her  feet.  Then  came 
a  sensation  of  fear ;  as  if,  not  being  actually  human,  yet  so 
like  humanity,  she  must  therefore  be  something  preternat 
ural.  There  was,  in  truth,  an  indefinable  air  and  expres- 

290  sion  that  might  reasonably  induce  the  query,  Who  and  from 
what  sphere  this  daughter  of  the  oak  should  be  ?  The 
strange,  rich  flowers  of  Eden  on  her  head ;  the  complexion 
so  much  deeper  and  more  brilliant  than  those  of  our  native 
beauties ;  the  foreign,  as  it  seemed,  and  fantastic  garb,  yet 

295  not  too  fantastic  to  be  worn  decorously  in  the  street ;  the 
delicately  wrought  embroidery  of  the  skirt ;  the  broad  gold 
chain  about  her  neck ;  the  curious  ring  upon  her  finger ;  the 
fan,  so  exquisitely  sculptured  in  open  work,  and  painted  to 


NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE  181 

resemble  pearl  and  ebony ;  —  where  could  Drowne,  in  his 
sober  walk  of  life,  have  beheld  the  vision  here  so  match- 300 
lessly  embodied !     And  then  her  face  !     In  the  dark  eyes, 
and  around  the  voluptuous  mouth,  there  played  a  look  made 
up  of  pride,  coquetry,  and  a  gleam  of  mirthfulness,  which 
impressed  Copley  with  the  idea  that  the  image  was  secretly 
enjoying  the  perplexing  admiration  of  himself  and  other  305 
beholders. 

"  And  will  you,"  said  he  to  the  carver,  "  permit  this  mas 
terpiece  to  become  the  figure-head  of  a  vessel?  Give  the 
honest  captain  yonder  figure  of  Britannia  —  it  will  answer 
his  purpose  far  better  —  and  send  this  fairy  queen  to  Eng-310 
land,  where,  for  aught  I  know,  it  may  bring  you  a  thousand 
pounds." 

"  I  have  not  wrought  it  for  money,"  said  Drowne. 

"  What  sort  of  a  fellow  is  this  ! "  thought  Copley.     "  A 
Yankee,  and  throw  away  the  chance  of  making  his  fortune  !  315 
He  has  gone  mad ;  and  thence  has   come   this  gleam   of 
genius." 

There  was  still  further  proof  of  Drowne' s  lunacy,  if  credit 
were  due  to  the  rumor  that  he  had  been  seen  kneeling  at 
the  feet  of  the  oaken  lady,  and  gazing  with  a  lover's  pas-  320 
sionate  ardor  into  the  face  that  his  own  hands  had  created. 
The  bigots  of  the  day  hinted  that  it  would  be  no  matter  of 
surprise  if  an  evil  spirit  were  allowed  to  enter  this  beautiful 
form,  and  seduce  the  carver  to  destruction. 

The  fame  of  the  image  spread  far  and  wide.     The  inhabit-  325 
ants  visited  it  so  universally,  that  after  a  few  days  of  ex 
hibition  there  was  hardly  an  old  man  or  a  child  who  had 
not  become  minutely  familiar  with  its  aspect.     Even  had 
the  story  of  Drowne's  wooden  image  ended  here,  its  celebrity 
might  have  been  prolonged  for  many  years  by  the  reminis-  330 
cences  of  those  who  looked  upon  it  in  their  childhood,  and 
saw  nothing  else  so  beautiful  in  after  life.     But  the  town 


182  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

waF  now  astounded  by  an  event,  the  narrative  of  which  has 
forined  itself  into  one  of  the  most  singular  legends  that  are 

335  yet  to  be  met  with  in  the  traditionary  chimney  corners  of 
the  New  England  metropolis,  where  old  men  and  women 
sit  dreaming  of  the  past,  and  wag  their  heads  at  the  dreamers 
of  the  present  and  the  future. 

One  fine  morning,  just  before  the  departure  of  the  Cyno- 

340  sure  on  her  second  voyage  to  Fayal,  the  commander  of  that 
gallant  vessel  was  seen  to  issue  from  his  residence  in  Han 
over  Street.  He  was  stylishly  dressed  in  a  blue  broadcloth 
coat,  with  gold  lace  at  the  seams  and  button-holes,  an  em 
broidered  scarlet  waistcoat,  a  triangular  hat,  with  a  loop 

345  and  broad  binding  of  gold,  and  wore  a  silver-hilted  hanger 
at  his  side.  But  the  good  captain  might  have  been  arrayed 
in  the  robes  of  a  prince  or  the  rags  of  a  beggar,  without  in 
either  case  attracting  notice,  while  obscured  by  such  a  com 
panion  as  now  leaned  on  his  arm.  The  people  in  the  street 

350  started,  rubbed  their  eyes,  and  either  leaped  aside  from 
their  path,  or  stood  as  if  transfixed  to  wood  or  marble  in 
astonishment. 

"  Do  you  see  it  ?  —  do  you  see  it  ?  "  cried  one,  with  trem 
ulous  eagerness.     "  It  is  the  very  same  !  " 

355  "  The  same  ? "  answered  another,  who  had  arrived  in 
town  only  the  night  before.  "  Who  do  you  mean  ?  I  see 
only  a  sea-captain  in  his  shore-going  clothes,  and  a  young 
lady  in  a  foreign  habit,  with  a  bunch  of  beautiful  flowers  in 
her  hat.  On  my  word,  she  is  as  fair  and  bright  a  damsel  as 

360  my  eyes  have  looked  on  this  many  a  day  ! " 

"  Yes ;  the  same  !  —  the  very  same  ! "  repeated  the  other. 
"  Drowne's  wooden  image  has  come  to  life ! " 

Here  was  a  miracle  indeed !     Yet,  illuminated  by  the  sun 
shine,  or  darkened  by  the  alternate  shade  of  the  houses,  and 

365  with  its  garments  fluttering  lightly  in  the  morning  breeze, 
there  passed  the  image  along  the  street.  It  was  exactly  and 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  183 

minutely  the  shape,  the  garb,  and  the  face  which  the  towns 
people  had  so  recently  thronged  to  see  and  admire.  Not  a  rich 
flower  upon  her  head,  not  a  single  leaf,  but  had  had  its  proto 
type  in  Drowne's  wooden  workmanship,  although  now  their  370 
fragile  grace  had  become  flexible,  was  shaken  by  every  foot 
step  that  the  wearer  made.  The  broad  gold  chain  upon  the 
neck  was  identical  with  the  one  represented  on  the  image, 
and  glistened  with  the  motion  imparted  by  the  rise  and  fall 
of  the  bosom  which  it  decorated.  A  real  diamond  sparkled  375 
on  her^finger.  In  her  right  hand  she  bore  a  pearl  and  ebony 
fan,  which  she  flourished  with  a  fantastic  and  bewitching 
coquetry,  that  was  likewise  expressed  in  all  her  movements 
as  well  as  in  the  style  of  her  beauty  and  the  attire  that  so 
well  harmonized  with  it.  The  face  with  its  brilliant  depth  380 
of  complexion  had  the  same  piquancy  of  mirthful  mischief 
that  was  fixed  upon  the  countenance  of  the  image,  but  which 
was  here  varied  and  continually  shifting,  yet  always  essen 
tially  the  same,  like  the  sunny  gleam  upon  a  bubbling 
fountain.  On  the  whole,  there  was  something  so  airy  and  385 
yet  so  real  in  the  figure,  and  withal  so  perfectly  did  it  rep 
resent  Drowne's  image,  that  people  knew  not  whether  to 
suppose  the  magic  wood  etherealized  into  a  spirit  or  warmed 
and  softened  into  an  actual  woman. 

"One  thing  is  certain,'7  muttered  a  Puritan  of  the  old 390 
stamp,  "Drowne  has  sold  himself  to  the  devil;  and  doubt 
less  this  gay  Captain  Hunnewell  is  a  party  to  the  bargain." 

"  And  I,"  said  a  young  man  who  overheard  him,  "  would 
almost  consent  to  be  the  third  victim,  for  the  liberty  of 
saluting  those  lovely  lips."  395 

"And  so  would  I,"  said  Copley,  the  painter,  "for  the 
privilege  of  taking  her  picture." 

The  image,  or  the  apparition,  whichever  it  might  be,  still 
escorted  by  the  bold  captain,  proceeded  from  Hanover  Street 
through  some  of  the  cross  lanes  that  make  this  portion  of  400 


184  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

the  town  so  intricate,  to  Ann  Street,  thence  into  Dock  Square, 
and  so  downward  to  Drowne's  shop,  which  stood  just  on  the 
water's  edge.  The  crowd  still  followed,  gathering  volume 
as  it  rolled  along.  Never  had  a  modern  miracle  occurred  in 

405  such  broad  daylight,  nor  in  the  presence  of  such  a  multitude 
of  witnesses.  The  airy  image,  as  if  conscious  that  she  was 
the  object  of  the  murmurs  and  disturbance  that  swelled  be 
hind  her,  appeared  slightly  vexed  and  flustered,  yet  still  in 
a  manner  consistent  with  the  light  vivacity  and  sportive 

410  mischief  that  were  written  in  her  countenance.  She  was 
observed  to  flutter  her  fan  with  such  vehement  rapidity  that 
the  elaborate  delicacy  of  its  workmanship  gave  way,  and  it 
remained  broken  in  her  hand. 

Arriving  at  Drowne's  door,  while  the  captain  threw  it 

415  open,  the  marvellous  apparition  paused  an  instant  on  the 
threshold,  assuming  the  very  attitude  of  the  image,  and 
casting  over  the  crowd  that  glance  of  sunny  coquetry  which 
all  remembered  on  the  face  of  the  oaken  lady.  She  and  her 
cavalier  then  disappeared. 

420  "  Ah ! "  murmured  the  crowd,  drawing  a  deep  breath,  as 
with  one  vast  pair  of  lungs. 

"The  world  looks  darker  now  that  she  has  vanished," 
said  some  of  the  young  men. 

But  the  aged,  whose  recollections  dated  as  far  back  as 

425  witch  times,  shook  their  heads,  and  hinted  that  our  fore 
fathers  would  have  thought  it  a  pious  deed  to  burn  the 
daughter  of  the  oak  with  fire. 

"  If  she  be  other  than  a  bubble  of  the  elements,"  exclaimed 
Copley,  "  I  must  look  upon  her  face  again." 

430  He  accordingly  entered  the  shop ;  and  there,  in  her  usual 
corner,  stood  the  image,  gazing  at  him,  as  it  might  seem, 
with  the  very  same  expression  of  mirthful  mischief  that  had 
been  the  farewell  look  of  the  apparition  when,  but  a  moment 
before,  she  turned  her  face  towards  the  crowd.  The  carver 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  185 

stood  beside  his  creation  mending  the  beautiful  fan,  which  435 
by  some  accident  was  broken  in  her  hand.     But  there  was 
no  longer  any  motion  in  the  lifelike  image,  nor  any  real 
woman  in  the  workshop,  nor  even  the  witchcraft  of  a  sunny 
shadow,  that  might  have  deluded  people's  eyes  as  it  flitted 
along  the  street.     Captain  Hunnewell,  too,  had  vanished.  440 
His  hoarse  sea-breezy  tones,  however,  were  audible  on  the 
other  side  of  a  door  that  opened  upon  the  water. 

"  Sit  down  in  the  stern  sheets,  my  lady,"  said  the  gallant 
captain.  "  Come,  bear  a  hand,  you  lubbers,  and  set  us  on 
board  in  the  turning  of  a  minute-glass."  445 

And  then  was  heard  the  stroke  of  oars. 

"  Drowne,"  said  Copley  with  a  smile  of  intelligence,  "you 
have  been  a  truly  fortunate  man.     What  painter  or  statuary 
ever  had  such  a  subject !     No  wonder  that  she  inspired  a 
genius  into  you,  and  first  created  the  artist  who  afterwards  450 
created  her  image." 

Drowue  looked  at  him  with  a  visage  that  bore  the  traces 
of  tears,  but  from  which  the  light  of  imagination  and  sen 
sibility,  so  recently  illuminating  it,  had  departed.     He  was 
again  the  mechanical  carver  that  he  had  been  known  to  be  455 
all  his  lifetime. 

"  I  hardly  understand  what  you  mean,  Mr.  Copley,5'  said 
he,  putting  his  hand  to  his  brow.     "  This  image !     Can  it 
have  been  my  work  ?     Well,  I  have  wrought  it  in  a  kind  of 
dream ;  and  now  that  I  am  broad  awake  I  must  set  about  460 
finishing  yonder  figure  of  Admiral  Vernon." 

And  forthwith  he  employed  himself  on  the  stolid  coun 
tenance  of  one  of  his  wooden  progeny,  and  completed  it  in 
his  own  mechanical  style,  from  which  he  was  never  known 
afterwards  to  deviate.  He  followed  his  business  indus-465 
triously  for  many  years,  acquired  a  competence,  and  in  the 
latter  part  of  his  life  attained  to  a  dignified  station  in  the 
church,  being  remembered  in  records  and  traditions  as 


186  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Deacon  Drowne,  the  carver.     One  of  his  productions,  an 

470  Indian  chief,  gilded  all  over,  stood  during  the  better  part  of 
a  century  on  the  cupola  of  the  Province  House,  bedazzling 
the  eyes  of  those  who  looked  upward,  like  an  angel  of  the 
sun.  Another  work  of  the  good  deacon's  hand  —  a  reduced 
likeness  of  his  friend  Captain  Hunnewell,  holding  a  tel- 

475  escope  and  quadrant  —  may  be  seen  to  this  day,  at  the  cor 
ner  of  Broad  and  State  streets,  serving  in  the  useful  capacity 
of  sign  to  the  shop  of  a  nautical  instrument  maker.  We 
know  not  how  to  account  for  the  inferiority  of  this  quaint 
old  figure,  as  compared  with  the  recorded  excellence  of  the 

480  Oaken  Lady,  unless  on  the  supposition  that  in  every  human 
spirit  there  is  imagination,  sensibility,  creative  power,  gen 
ius,  which,  according  to  circumstances,  may  either  be  de 
veloped  in  this  world,  or  shrouded  in  a  mask  of  dulness 
until  another  state  of  being.  To  our  friend  Drowne  there 

485  came  a  brief  season  of  excitement,  kindled  by  love.  It  ren 
dered  him  a  genius  for  that  one  occasion,  but,  quenched  in 
disappointment,  left  him  again  the  mechanical  carver  in 
wood,  without  the  power  even  of  appreciating  the  work  that 
his  own  hands  had  wrought.  Yet  who  can  doubt  that  the 

490  very  highest  state  to  which  a  human  spirit  can  attain,  in  its 
loftiest  aspirations,  is  its  truest  and  most  natural  state,  and 
that  Drowne  was  more  consistent  with  himself  when  he 
wrought  the  admirable  figure  of  the  mysterious  lady,  than 
when  he  perpetrated  a  whole  progeny  of  blockheads  ? 

495  There  was  a  rumor  in  Boston,  about  this  period,  that  a 
young  Portuguese  lady  of  rank,  on  some  occasion  of  political 
or  domestic  disquietude,  had  fled  from  her  home  in  Fayal 
and  put  herself  under  the  protection  of  Captain  Hunnewell, 
on  board  of  whose  vessel,  and  at  whose  residence  she  was 

500  sheltered  until  a  change  of  affairs.  This  fair  stranger  must 
have  been  the  original  of  Drowne's  Wooden  Image. 


JOHN   LOTHROP   MOTLEY  187 

JOHN  LOTHROP   MOTLEY 

Tour  of  William  the  Silent  through  Holland 

(From  The  Rise  of  the  Dutch  Republic,  Part  V,  Chap.  HI) 

At  the  popular  request,  the  Prince  afterwards  made  a  tour 
through  the  little  provinces,  honoring  every  city  with  a  brief 
visit.  There  were  no  triumphal  arches,  no  martial  music, 
no  banners,  no  theatrical  pageantry  —  nothing  but  the  choral 
anthem  from  thousands  of  grateful  hearts.  "  Father  William  5 
has  come!  Father  William  has  come  ! "  cried  men,  women, 
and  children  to  each  other  when  the  news  of  his  arrival  in 
town  or  village  was  announced.  He  was  a  patriarch  visiting 
his  children,  not  a  conqueror,  nor  a  vulgar  potentate  display 
ing  himself  to  his  admirers.  Happy  were  they  who  heard  10 
his  voice,  happier  they  who  touched  his  hands,  for  his  words 
were  full  of  tenderness,  his  hand  was  offered  to  all.  There 
were  none  so  humble  as  to  be  forbidden  to  approach  him, 
none  so  ignorant  as  not  to  know  his  deeds. 

He  found  time,  notwithstanding  the  congratulating  crowds  15 
who  thronged  his  footsteps,  to  direct  the  labors  of  the  states- 
general,  who  still  looked  more  than  ever  to  his  guidance,  as 
their  relations  with  Don  John  became  more  complicated 
and  unsatisfactory.     In  a  letter  addressed  to  them,  on  the 
20th  of  June,  from  Harlem,  he  warned  them  most  eloquently  20 
to  hold  to  the  Ghent  Pacification  as  to  their  anchor  in  the 
storm.     He  assured  them,  if  it  was  torn  from  them,  that 
their  destruction  was  inevitable.     He  reminded  them  that 
hitherto  they  had  got  but  the  shadow,  not  the  substance  of 
the  treaty  ;  that  they  had  been  robbed  of  that  which  was  to  25 
have  been  its  chief  fruit  —  union  among  themselves.     He 
and  his  brothers,  with  their  labor,  their  wealth,  and  their 
blood,  had  laid  down  the  bridge  over  which  the  country  had 
stepped  to  the  Pacification  of  Ghent.     It  was  for  the  nation 


188  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

30  to  maintain  what  had  been  so  painfully  won ;  yet  he  pro 
claimed  to  them  that  the  government  were  not  acting  in 
good  faith,  that  secret  preparations  were  making  to  annihilate 
the  authority  of  the  states,  to  restore  the  edicts,  to  put 
strangers  into  high  places,  and  to  set  up  again  the  scaffold 

35  and  the  whole  machinery  of  persecution. 

In  consequence  of  the  seizure  of  Namur  Castle,  and  the 
accusations  made  by  Don  John  against  Orange,  in  order  to 
justify  that  act,  the  Prince  had  already  despatched  Taffin  and 
Saint  Aldegonde  to  the  states-general  with  a  commission  to 

40  declare  his  sentiments  upon  the  subject.  He  addressed, 
moreover,  to  the  same  body  a  full  letter  of  sincere  and  simple 
eloquence.  "  The  Seigneur  Don  John,"  said  he,  "  has  accused 
me  of  violating  the  peace,  and  of  countenancing  attempts 
against  his  life,  and  is  endeavouring  to  persuade  you  into 

45  joining  him  in  a  declaration  of  war  against  me  and  against 
Holland  and  Zealand ;  but  I  pray  you,  most  affectionately, 
to  remember  our  mutual  and  solemn  obligations  to  maintain 
the  treaty  of  Ghent."  He  entreated  the  states,  therefore, 
to  beware  of  the  artifices  employed  to  seduce  them  from  the 

50  only  path  which  led  to  the  tranquillity  of  their  common 
country,  and  her  true  splendor  and  prosperity.  "  I  believe 
there  is  not  one  of  you,"  he  continued,  "  who  can  doubt  me, 
if  he  will  weigh  carefully  all  my  actions,  and  consider 
closely  the  course  which  I  am  pursuing  and  have  always 

55  pursued.  Let  all  these  be  confronted  with  the  conduct  of 
Don  John,  and  any  man  will  perceive  that  all  my  views  of 
happiness,  both  for  my  country  and  myself,  imply  a  peace 
able  enjoyment  of  the  union,  joined  with  the  legitimate 
restoration  of  our  liberties,  to  which  all  good  patriots  aspire, 

60  and  towards  which  all  my  designs  have  ever  tended.  As  all 
the  grandeur  of  Don  John,  on  the  contrary,  consists  in 
war,  as  there  is  nothing  which  he  so  abhors  as  repose,  as  he 
has  given  ample  proof  of  these  inclinations  in  all  his  designs 


JOHN   LOTHROP  MOTLEY  189 

and  enterprises,  both  before  and  after  the  treaty  of  Marche 
en  Famine,  both  within  the  country  and  beyond  its  borders,  65 
as  it  is  most  manifest  that  his  purpose  is,  and  ever  has  been, 
to  embroil  us  with  our  neighbors  of  England  and  Scotland 
in  new  dissensions,  as  it  must  be  evident  to  every  one  of  you 
that  his  pretended  accusations  against  me  are  but  colors  and 
shadows  to  embellish  and  to  shroud  his  own  desire  for  war,  70 
his  appetite  for  vengeance,  and  his  hatred  not  only  to  me 
but  to  yourselves,  and  as  his  determination  is,  in  the  words 
of  Escovedo,  to  chastize  some  of  us  by  means  of  the  rest, 
and  to  excite  the  jealousy  of  one  portion  of  the  country 
against  the  other  —  therefore,  gentlemen,  do  I  most  affec-75 
tionately  exhort  you  to  found  your  decision,  as  to  these 
matters,  not  upon  words,  but  upon  actions.  Examine  care 
fully  my  conduct  in  the  points  concerning  which  the  charges 
are  made  ;  listen  attentively  to  what  my  envoys  will  com 
municate  to  you  in  my  behalf  ;  and  then,  having  compared  it  80 
with  all  the  proceedings  of  Seigneur  Don  John,  you  will  be 
able  to  form  a  resolution  worthy  the  rank  which  you  occupy, 
and  befitting  your  obligations  to  the  whole  people,  of  whom 
you  have  been  chosen  chiefs  and  protectors  by  God  and  by 
men.  Put  away  all  considerations  which  might  obscure  your  85 
clear  eye-sight ;  maintain  with  magnanimity,  and  like  men, 
the  safety  of  yourselves,  your  wives,  your  children,  your  es 
tates,  your  liberties ;  see  that  this  poor  people,  whose  eyes 
are  fixed  upon  you,  does  not  perish ;  preserve  them  from  the 
greediness  of  those  who  would  grow  great  at  your  expense; 90 
guard  them  from  the  yoke  of  miserable  servitude  ;  let  not 
all  our  posterity  lament  that,  by  our  pusillanimity,  they 
have  lost  the  liberties  which  our  ancestors  had  conquered 
for  them,  and  bequeathed  to  them  as  well  as  to  us,  and  that 
they  have  been  subjugated  by  the  proud  tyranny  of  strangers.  95 

"  Trusting,"  said  the  Prince,  in  conclusion,  "  that  you  will 
accord  faith  and  attention  to  my  envoys,  I  will  only  add  an 


190  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

expression  of  my  sincere  determination  to  employ  myself 
incessantly  in  your  service,  and  for  the  welfare  of  the  whole 

100  people,  without  sparing  any  means  in  my  power,  nor  my 
life  itself." 

The  vigilant  Prince  was  indeed  not  slow  to  take  advantage 
of  the  Governor's  false  move.  While  in  reality  intending 
peace,  if  it  were  possible,  Don  John  had  thrown  the  gaunt- 

105 let;  while  affecting  to  deal  openly  and  manfully,  like  a 
warrior  and  an  emperor's  son,  he  had  involved  himself  in 
petty  stratagems  and  transparent  intrigues,  by  all  which  he 
had  gained  nothing  but  the  character  of  a  plotter,  whose 
word  could  not  be  trusted.  Saint  Aldegonde  expressed  the 

no  hope  that  the  seizure  of  Namur  Castle  would  open  the  eyes 
of  the  people,  and  certainly  the  Prince  did  his  best  to 
sharpen  their  vision. 

While  in  North  Holland,  William  of  Orange  received  an 
urgent  invitation  from  the  magistracy  and  community  of 

115  Utrecht  to  visit  that  city.  His  authority,  belonging  to  him 
under  his  ancient  commission,  had  not  yet  been  recognized 
over  that  province,  but  there  was  no  doubt  that  the  contem 
plated  convention  of  "  Satisfaction  "  was  soon  to  be  arranged, 
for  his  friends  there  were  numerous  and  influential.  His 

120  princess,  Charlotte  de  Bourbon,  who  accompanied  him  on  his 
tour,  trembled  at  the  danger  to  which  her  husband  would 
expose  himself  by  venturing  thus  boldly  into  a  territory 
which  might  be  full  of  his  enemies,  but  the  Prince  deter 
mined  to  trust  the  loyalty  of  a  province  which  he  hoped 

125  would  be  soon  his  own.  With  anxious  forebodings,  the 
Princess  followed  her  husband  to  the  ancient  episcopal  city. 
As  they  entered  its  gates,  where  an  immense  concourse  was 
waiting  to  receive  him,  a  shot  passed  through  the  carriage 
window,  and  struck  the  Prince  upon  the  breast.  The  af- 

130  frighted  lady  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck,  shrieking  that 
they  were  betrayed,  but  the  Prince,  perceiving  that  the 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  191 

supposed  shot  was  but  a  wad  from  one  of  the  cannon,  which 
were  still  roaring  their  welcome  to  him,  soon  succeeded  in 
calming  her  fears.  The  carriage  passed  slowly  through  the 
streets,  attended  by  the  vociferous  greetings  of  the  multi- 135 
tude ;  for  the  whole  population  had  come  forth  to  do  him 
honor.  The  citizens  of  Utrecht  became  more  than  ever  in 
clined  to  accept  the  dominion  of  the  Prince,  and  it  was  cer 
tain  before  he  took  his  departure  that  the  treaty  of  "  Satis 
faction  "  would  not  be  long  delayed.  It  was  drawn  up,  140 
accordingly,  in  the  autumn  of  the  same  year,  upon  the  basis 
of  that  accepted  by  Harlem  and  Amsterdam  —  a  basis  wide 
enough  to  support  both  religions,  with  a  nominal  supremacy 
to  the  ancient  Church. 


RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON 
The  Rhodora: 

ON   BEING    ASKED,    WHENCE    IS    THE    FLOWER? 

In  May,  when  sea-winds  pierced  our  solitudes, 

I  found  the  fresh  Rhodora  in  the  woods, 

Spreading  its  leafless  blooms  in  a  damp  nook, 

To  please  the  desert  and  the  sluggish  brook. 

The  purple  petals,  fallen  in  the  pool,  6 

Made  the  black  water  with  their  beauty  gay; 

Here  might  the  redbird  come  his  plumes  to  cool, 

And  court  the  flower  that  cheapens  his  array. 

Rhodora !  if  the  sages  ask  thee  why 

This  charm  is  wasted  on  the  earth  and  sky,  10 

Tell  them,  dear,  that  if  eyes  were  made  for  seeing, 

Then  Beauty  is  its  own  excuse  for  being : 

Why  thou  wert  there,  O  rival  of  the  rose  1 

I  never  thought  to  ask,  I  never  knew  : 

But,  in  my  simple  ignorance,  suppose  15 

The  self-same  Power  that  brought  me  there  brought  you. 


192  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

The  Apology 

Think  me  not  unkind  and  rude 

That  I  walk  alone  in  grove  and  glen ; 

I  go  to  the  god  of  the  wood 
To  fetch  his  word  to  men. 

5  Tax  not  my  sloth  that  I 

Fold  my  arms  beside  the  brook ; 
Each  cloud  that  floated  in  the  sky 
Writes  a  letter  in  my  book. 

Chide  me  not,  laborious  band, 
10  For  the  idle  flowers  I  brought; 

Every  aster  in  my  hand 

Goes  home  loaded  with  a  thought. 

There  was  never  mystery 

But  'tis  figured  in  the  flowers ; 
15  Was  never  secret  history 

But  birds  tell  it  in  the  bowers. 

One  harvest  from  thy  field 

Homeward  brought  the  oxen  strong  ; 
A  second  crop  thine  acres  yield, 
20  Which  I  gather  in  a  song. 

Concord  Hymn 

(Sung  at  the  Completion  of  the  Battle  Monument,  July  4,  1837) 

By  the  rude  bridge  that  arched  the  flood, 
Their  flag  to  April's  breeze  unfurled, 

Here  once  the  embattled  farmers  stood 
And  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world. 

5  The  foe  long  since  in  silence  slept ; 

Alike  the  conqueror  silent  sleeps ; 
And  Time  the  ruined  bridge  has  swept 

Down  the  dark  stream  which  seaward  creeps. 


RALPH  WALDO   EMERSON  193 

On  this  green  bank,  by  this  soft  stream, 

We  set  to-day  a  votive  stone  :  10 

That  memory  may  their  deed  redeem, 

When  like  our  sires,  our  sons  are  gone. 

Spirit,  that  made  those  heroes  dare 

To  die,  and  leave  their  children  free, 
Bid  Time  and  Nature  gently  spare  15 

The  shaft  we  raise  to  them  and  thee. 


The  Humble-Bee 

Burly,  dozing  humble-bee, 

Where  thou  art  is  clime  for  me. 

Let  them  sail  for  Porto  Rique, 

Far-off  heats  through  seas  to  seek ; 

I  will  follow  thee  alone,  5 

Thou  animated  torrid-zone ! 

Zigzag  steerer,  desert  cheerer, 

Let  me  chase  thy  waving  lines; 

Keep  me  nearer,  me  thy  hearer, 

Singing  over  shrubs  and  vines.  10 

Insect  lover  of  the  sun, 

Joy  of  thy  dominion  1 

Sailor  of  the  atmosphere ; 

Swimmer  through  the  waves  of  air  ; 

Voyager  of  light  and  noon ;  15 

Epicurean  of  June ; 

Wait,  I  prithee,  till  I  come  ', 

Within  earshot  of  thy  hum,— 

All  without  is  martyrdom. 

When  the  south  wind,  in  May  days,  20 

With  a  net  of  shining  haze 

Silvers  the  horizon  wall, 

And  with  softness  touching  all, 


194  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Tints  the  human  countenance 
25  With  a  color  of  romance, 

And  infusing  subtle  heats, 
Turns  the  sod  to  violets, 
Thou,  in  sunny  solitudes, 
Rover  of  the  underwoods, 

30  The  green  silence  dost  displace 

With  thy  mellow,  breezy  bass. 

Hot  midsummer's  petted  crone, 
Sweet  to  me  thy  drowsy  tone 
Tells  of  countless  sunny  hours, 

35  Long  days,  and  solid  banks  of  flowers 

Of  gulfs  of  sweetness  without  bound 
In  Indian  wildernesses  found ; 
Of  Syrian  peace,  immortal  leisure, 
Firmest  cheer,  and  bird-like  pleasure. 

40  Aught  unsavory  or  unclean 

Hath  my  insect  never  seen  ; 
But  violets  and  bilberry  bells, 
Maple-sap  and  daffodels, 
Grass  with  green  flag  half-mast  high, 

45  Succory  to  match  the  sky, 

Columbine  with  horn  of  honey, 
Scented  fern,  and  agrimony, 
Clover,  catchfly,  adder's-tongue 
And  brier-roses,  dwelt  among; 

50  All  beside  was  unknown  waste, 

All  was  picture  as  he  passed. 

Wiser  far  than  human  seer, 
Yellow-breeched  philosopher! 
Seeing  only  what  is  fair, 
55  Sipping  only  what  is  sweet, 

Thon  dost  mock  at  fate  and  care, 
Leave  the  chaff,  and  take  the  wheat. 
When  the  fierce  northwestern  blast 
Cools  sea  and  land  so  far  and  fast, 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  195 

Thou  already  slurnberest  deep ;  i 

Woe  and  want  thou  canst  outsleep ; 
Want  and  woe,  which  torture  us, 
Thy  sleep  makes  ridiculous. 


Terminus 

It  is  time  to  be  old, 

To  take  in  sail :  — 

The  god  of  bounds, 

Who  sets  to  seas  a  shore, 

Came  to  me  in  his  fatal  rounds,  5 

And  said  :  *  No  more  ! 

No  farther  shoot 

Thy  broad  ambitious  branches,  and  thy  root. 

Fancy  departs :  no  more  invent ; 

Contract  thy  firmament  10 

To  compass  of  a  tent. 

There's  not  enough  for  this  and  that, 

Make  thy  option  which  of  two  ; 

Economize  the  failing  river, 

Not  the  less  revere  the  Giver,  15 

Leave  the  many  and  hold  the  few. 

Timely  wise  accept  the  terms, 

Soften  the  fall  with  wary  foot ; 

A  little  while 

Still  plan  and  smile,  20 

And,  —  fault  of  novel  germs,  — 

Mature  the  unf alien  fruit. 

Curse,  if  thou  wilt,  thy  sires, 

Bad  husbands  of  their  fires, 

Who,  when  they  gave  thee  breath,  25 

Failed  to  bequeath 

The  needful  sinew  stark  as  once, 

The  Baresark  marrow  to  thy  bones, 

But  left  a  legacy  of  ebbing  veins, 

Inconstant  heat  and  nerveless  reins,  —  30 


196  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

Amid  the  Muses,  left  thee  deaf  and  dumb, 
Amid  the  gladiators,  halt  and  numb.' 

As  the  bird  trims  her  to  the  gale, 
I  trim  myself  to  the  storm  of  time, 

35  I  man  the  rudder,  reef  the  sail, 

Obey  the  voice  at  eve  obeyed  at  prime: 

*  Lowly  faithful,  banish  fear, 

Right  onward  drive  unharmed ; 

The  port,  well  worth  the  cruise,  is  near, 

40  And  every  wave  is  charmed.' 


The  Nature  of  Government 
(From  Politics) 

In  this  country,  we  are  very  vain  of  our  political  institu 
tions,  which  are  singular  in  this,  that  they  sprung,  within 
the  memory  of  living  men,  from  the  character  and  condition 
of  the  people,  which  they  still  express  with  sufficient  fidel- 
5ity, —  and  we  ostentatiously  prefer  them  to  any  other  in 
history.  They  are  not  better,  but  only  fitter  for  us.  We 
may  be  wise  in  asserting  the  advantage  in  modern  times  of 
the  democratic  form,  but  to  other  states  of  society,  in  which 
religion  consecrated  the  monarchical,  that  and  not  this  was 

10  expedient.  Democracy  is  better  for  us,  because  the  religious 
sentiment  of  the  present  time  accords  better  with  it.  Born 
democrats,  we  are  nowise  qualified  to  judge  of  monarchy, 
which,  to  our  fathers  living  in  the  monarchical  idea,  was 
also  relatively  right.  But  our  institutions,  though  in  coin- 

15  cidence  with  the  spirit  of  the  age,  have  not  any  exemption 
from  the  practical  defects  which  have  discredited  other 
forms.  Every  actual  State  is  corrupt.  Good  men  must 
not  obey  the  laws  too  well.  What  satire  on  government 
can  equal  the  severity  of  censure  conveyed  in  the  wordpol- 


RALPH  WALDO   EMERSON  197 

which  now  for  ages  has  signified  cunning,  intimating  20 
that  the  State  is  a  trick  ? 

The  same  benign  necessity  and  the  same  practical  abuse 
appear  in  the  parties  into  which  each  State  divides  itself, 
of  opponents  and  defenders  of  the  administration  of  the 
government.  Parties  are  also  founded  on  instincts,  and  25 
have  better  guides  to  their  own  humble  aims  than  the  sagac 
ity  of  their  leaders.  They  have  nothing  perverse  in  their 
origin,  but  rudely  mark  some  real  and  lasting  relation.  We 
might  as  wisely  reprove  the  east  wind,  or  the  frost,  as  a 
political  party,  whose  members,  for  the  most  part,  could  30 
give  no  account  of  their  position,  but  stand  for  the  defense 
of  those  interests  in  which  they  find  themselves.  Our 
quarrel  with  them  begins,  when  they  quit  this  deep  natural 
ground  at  the  bidding  of  some  leader,  and,  obeying  personal 
considerations,  throw  themselves  into  the  maintenance  and  35 
defense  of  points  nowise  belonging  to  their  system.  A 
party  is  perpetually  corrupted  by  personality.  While  we 
absolve  the  association  from  dishonesty  we  cannot  extend 
the  same  charity  to  their  leaders.  They  reap  the  rewards 
of  the  docility  and  zeal  of  the  masses  which  they  direct.  40 
Ordinarily  our  parties  are  parties  of  circumstance  and  not 
of  principle;  as  the  planting  interest  in  conflict  with  the 
commercial ;  the  party  of  capitalists,  and  that  of  operatives  ; 
parties  which  are  identical  in  their  moral  character,  and 
which  can  easily  change  ground  with  each  other,  in  the  45 
support  of  many  of  their  measures.  Parties  of  principle,  as 
religious  sects,  or  the  party  of  free-trade,  of  universal  suf 
frage,  of  abolition  of  slavery,  of  abolition  of  capital  punish 
ment,  degenerate  into  personalities,  or  would  inspire  enthu 
siasm.  The  vice  of  our  leading  parties  in  this  country  50 
(which  may  be  cited  as  a  fair  specimen  of  these  societies  of 
opinion)  is,  that  they  do  not  plant  themselves  on  the  deep 
and  necessary  grounds  to  which  they  are  respectively  en- 


198  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

titled,  but  lash  themselves  to  fury  in  the  carrying  of  some 
55  local  and  momentary  measure,  nowise  useful  to  the  common 
wealth.     Of  the   two   great   parties,  which,  at  this  hour, 
almost  share  the  nation  between  them,  I  should  say,  that 
one  has  the  best  cause,  and  the  other  contains  the  best  men. 
The  philosopher,  the  poet,  or  the  religious  man,  will,  of 
60  course,  wish  to  cast  his  vote  with  the  democrat,  for  free- 
trade,  for  wide  suffrage,  for  the  abolition  of  legal  cruelties 
in  the  penal  code,  and  for  facilitating  in  every  manner  the 
access  of  the  young  and  the  poor  to  the  sources  of  wealth 
and   power.     But  he  can  rarely  accept  the  persons  whom 
65  the  so-called  popular  party  proposes  to  him  as  representatives 
of  these   liberalities.     They   have   not   at   heart  the  ends 
which  give  to  the  name  of  democracy  what  hope  and  virtue 
are  in  it.     The  spirit  of  our  American  radicalism  is  destruc 
tive  and  aimless :  it  is  not  loving ;  it  has  no  ulterior  and 
70 divine   ends;  but   is   destructive   only  out  of  hatred   and 
selfishness.     On  the  other  side,  the  conservative  party,  com 
posed  of  the  most  moderate,  able,  and  cultivated  part  of 
the  population,  is  timid,  and  merely  defensive  of  property. 
It  vindicates  no  right,  it  aspires  to  no  real  good,  it  brands  no 
75  crime,  it  proposes  no  generous  policy,  it  does  not  build,  nor 
write,  nor  cherish  the  arts,  nor  foster  religion,  nor  establish 
schools,  nor  encourage  science,  nor  emancipate  the  slave,  nor 
befriend  the  poor,  or  the  Indian,  or  the  immigrant.     From 
neither  party,  when  in  power,  has  the  world  any  benefit  to 
80  expect  in  science,  art,  or  humanity  at  all  commensurate  with 
the  resources  of  the  nation. 

I  do  not  for  these  defects  despair  of  our  republic.  We 
are  not  at  the  mercy  of  any  waves  of  chance.  In  the  strife 
of  ferocious  parties,  human  nature  always  finds  itself  cher- 
85  ished,  as  the  children  of  the  convicts  at  Botany  Bay  are 
found  to  have  as  healthy  a  moral  sentiment  as  other  children. 
Citizens  of  feudal  states  are  alarmed  at  our  democratic  insti- 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  199 

tutions  lapsing  into  anarchy ;  and  the  older  and  more  cau 
tious  among  ourselves  are  learning  from  Europeans  to  look 
with  some  terror  at  our  turbulent  freedom.  It  is  said  that  90 
in  our  license  of  construing  the  Constitution,  and  in  the  des 
potism  of  public  opinion,  we  have  no  anchor ;  and  one  foreign 
observer  thinks  he  has  found  the  safeguard  in  the  sanctity 
of  Marriage  among  us ;  and  another  thinks  he  has  found  it 
in  our  Calvinism.  Fisher  Ames  expressed  the  popular  secu-  95 
rity  more  wisely,  when  he  compared  a  monarchy  and  a 
republic,  saying,  "that  a  monarchy  is  a  merchantman, 
which  sails  well,  but  will  sometimes  strike  on  a  rock,  and  go 
to  the  bottom  ;  whilst  a  republic  is  a  raft,  which  would  never 
sink,  but  then  your  feet  are  always  in  water."  No  forms  can  100 
have  any  dangerous  importance,  whilst  we  are  befriended 
by  the  laws  of  things.  It  makes  no  difference  how  many 
tons'  weight  of  atmosphere  presses  on  our  heads,  so  long  as 
the  same  pressure  resists  it  within  the  lungs.  Augment  the 
mass  a  thousand  fold,  it  cannot  begin  to  crush  us,  as  long  as  105 
reaction  is  equal  to  action.  The  fact  of  two  poles,  of  two 
forces,  centripetal  and  centrifugal,  is  universal,  and  each 
force  by  its  own  activity  develops  the  other.  Wild  liberty 
develops  iron  conscience.  Want  of  liberty,  by  strengthening 
law  and  decorum,  stupefies  conscience.  "Lynch-law"  pre-no 
vails  only  where  there  is  greater  hardihood  and  self-subsist- 
ency  in  the  leaders.  A  mob  cannot  be  a  permanency : 
everybody's  interest  requires  that  it  should  not  exist,  and 
only  justice  satisfies  all. 

We  must  trust  infinitely  to  the  beneficent  necessity  which  115 
shines  through  all  laws.     Human  nature  expresses  itself  in 
them  as  characteristically  as  in  statues,  or  songs,  or  railroads, 
and  an  abstract  of  the  codes  of  nations  would  be  a  transcript 
of  the  common  conscience.     Governments  have  their  origin 
in  the  moral  identity  of  men.     Reason  for  one  is  seen  to  be  120 
reason  for  another,  and  for  every  other.     There  is  a  middle 


200  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

measure  which  satisfies  all  parties,  be  they  never  so  many, 
or  so  resolute  for  their  own.  Every  man  finds  a  sanction 
for  his  simplest  claims  and  deeds  in  decisions  of  his  own 

125  mind,  which  he  calls  Truth  and  Holiness.  In  these  decisions 
all  the  citizens  find  a  perfect  agreement,  and  only  in  these ; 
not  in  what  is  good  to  eat,  good  to  wear,  good  use  of  time, 
or  what  amount  of  land,  or  of  public  aid,  each  is  entitled  to 
claim.  This  truth  and  justice  men  presently  endeavor  to 

130  make  application  of,  to  the  measuring  of  land,  the  apportion 
ment  of  service,  the  protection  of  life  and  property.  Their 
first  endeavors,  no  doubt,  are  very  awkward.  Yet  absolute 
right  is  the  first  governor ;  or,  every  government  is  an  impure 
theocracy.  The  idea,  after  which  each  community  is  aiming 

135  to  make  and  mend  its  law,  is  the  will  of  the  wise  man.  The 
wise  man,  it  cannot  find  in  nature,  and  it  makes  awkward 
but  earnest  efforts  to  secure  his  government  by  contrivance ; 
as,  by  causing  the  entire  people  to  give  their  voices  on  every 
measure  ;  or,  by  a  double  choice  to  get  the  representation  of 

140 the  whole;  or,  by  a  selection  of  the  best  citizens;  or,  to 
secure  the  advantages  of  efficiency  and  internal  peace,  by 
confiding  the  government  to  one,  who  may  himself  select  his 
agents.  All  forms  of  government  symbolize  an  immortal 
government,  common  to  all  dynasties  and  independent  of 

145  numbers,  perfect  where  two  men  exist,  perfect  where  there 
is  only  one  man. 

HENRY   DAVID   THOREAU 

The  Coming  of  the  Birds 

(From  Early  Spring  in  Massachusetts) 

March,  18,  1858.  How  much  more  habitable  a  few  birds 
make  the  fields  !  At  the  end  of  the  winter,  when  the  fields 
are  bare,  and  there  is  nothing  to  relieve  the  monotony  of 
withered  vegetation,  our  life  seems  reduced  to  its  lowest 


HENRY  DAVID  THOREAU  201 

terms.     But  let  a  bluebird  come  and  warble  over  them,  and  5 
what  a  change !     The  note  of  the  first  bluebird  in  the  air 
answers  to  the  purling  rill  of  melted  snow  beneath.     It  is 
evidently  soft  and  soothing,  and,  as  surely  as  the  thermom 
eter,  indicates  a  higher  temperature.     It  is  the  accent  of  the 
south  wind,  its  vernacular.     It  is  modulated  by  the  south  10 
wind. 

The  song-sparrow  is  more  sprightly,  mingling  its  notes 
with  the  rustling  of  the  brush  along  the  water  sides,  but  it 
is  at  the  same  time  more  terrene  than  the  bluebird.  The 
first  woodpecker  comes  screaming  into  the  empty  house,  and  15 
throws  open  doors  and  windows  wide,  calling  out  each 
of  them  to  let  the  neighbors  know  of  its  return.  But  heard 
farther  off  it  is  very  suggestive  of  ineffable  associations, 
which  cannot  be  distinctly  recalled,  of  long-drawn  summer 
hours,  and  thus  it  also  has  the  effect  of  music.  I  was  not  20 
aware  that  the  capacity  to  hear  the  woodpecker  had  slum 
bered  within  me  so  long.  When  the  blackbird  gets  to  a  con- 
queree  he  seems  to  be  dreaming  of  the  sprays  that  are  to  be 
and  on  which  he  will  perch.  The  robin  does  not  come  singing, 
but  utters  a  somewhat  anxious  or  inquisitive  peep  at  first.  25 
The  songsparrow  is  immediately  most  at  home  of  those  I 
have  named. 

Each  new  year  is  a  surprise  to  us.  We  find  that  we  had 
virtually  forgotten  the  note  of  each  bird,  and  when  we  hear 
it  again,  it  is  remembered  like  a  dream,  reminding  us  of  a  30 
previous  state  of  existence.  How  happens  it  that  the  asso 
ciations  it  awakens  are  always  pleasing,  never  saddening, 
reminiscences  of  our  sanest  hours.  The  voice  of  nature  is 
always  encouraging. 

When  I  get  two  thirds  up  the  hill,  I  look  round,  and  am  35 
for  the  hundredth  time  surprised  by  the  landscape  of  the 
river  valley  and  the  horizon  with  its  distant  blue-scalloped 
rim.     It  is  a  spring  landscape,  and  as  impossible  a  fortnight 


202  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

ago  as  the  song  of  birds.     It  is  a  deeper  and  warmer  blue  than 

40  in  winter,  methinks.  The  snow  is  off  the  mountains,  which 
seem  even  to  have  come  again  like  the  birds.  The  undu 
lating  river  is  a  bright  blue  channel  between  sharp-edged 
shores  of  ice  retained  by  the  willows.  The  wind  blows 
strong  but  warm  from  west  by  north  (so  that  I  have  to  hold 

45  my  paper  tight  while  I  write  this),  making  the  copses  creak 
and  roar,  but  the  sharp  tinkle  of  a  song-sparrow  is  heard 
through  it  all.  But,  ah !  the  needles  of  the  pine,  how  they 
shine,  as  I  look  down  over  the  Holden  wood  and  westward  ! 
Every  third  tree  is  lit  with  the  most  subdued,  but  clear, 

50  ethereal  light,  as  if  it  were  the  most  delicate  frost-work  in 
a  winter  morning,  reflecting  no  heat,  but  only  light.  And 
as  they  rock  and  wave  in  the  strong  wind,  even  a  mile  off, 
the  light  courses  up  and  down  them  as  over  a  field  of  grain, 
i.e.}  they  are  alternately  light  and  dark,  like  looms  above 

55  the  forest,  when  the  shuttle  is  thrown  between  the  light 
woof  and  the  dark  web.  At  sight  of  this  my  spirit  is  like 
a  lit  tree.  It  runs  or  flashes  over  their  parallel  boughs  as 
when  you  play  with  the  teeth  of  a  comb.  Not  only  osiers, 
but  pine  needles,  shine  brighter,  I  think,  in  the  spring,  and 

60  arrowheads  and  railroad  rails,  etc.,  etc.  Anacreon  noticed 
this  spring  shining.  Is  it  not  from  the  higher  sun  and 
cleansed  air  and  greater  animation  of  nature  ?  There  is  a 
warmer  red  on  the  leaves  of  the  shrub  oak  and  on  the  tail 
of  the  hawk  circling  over  them. 

Maimed  Nature 
(From  Early  Spring  in  Massachusetts) 

March  23, 1856.  I  spend  a  considerable  portion  of  my  time 
observing  the  habits  of  the  wild  animals,  my  brute  neigh 
bors.  By  their  various  movements  and  migrations  they  fetch 
the  year  about  to  me.  Very  significant  are  the  flight  of  geese 


HENRY  DAVID  THOREAU  203 

and  the  migration  of  suckers,  etc.     But  when  I  consider  that  5 
the  nobler  animals  have  been  exterminated  here,  the  cougar, 
panther,  lynx,  wolverine,  wolf,  bear,  moose,  deer,  beaver, 
turkey,  etc.,  etc.,  I  cannot  but  feel  as  if  I  lived  in  a  tamed 
and,  as  it  were,  emasculated  country.     Would  not  the  mo 
tions  of  those  larger  and  wilder  animals  have  been  more  10 
significant  still  ?     Is  it  not  a  maimed  and  imperfect  nature 
that  I  am  conversant  with  ?     As  if  I  were  to  study  a  tribe 
of  Indians  that  had  lost  all  its  warriors.     Do  not  the  forest 
and  the  meadow  now  lack  expression  ?  now  that  I  never  see 
nor  think  of  the  moose  with  a  lesser  forest  on  his  head  in  15 
the  one,  nor  of  the  beaver  in  the  other  ?     When  I  think  what 
were  the  various  sounds  and  notes,  the  migrations  and  works, 
and  changes  of  fur  and  plumage,  which  ushered  in  the  spring 
and  marked  the  other  seasons  of  the  year,  I  am  reminded 
that  this  my  life  in  nature,  this  particular  round  of  natural  20 
phenomena  which  I  call  a  year,  is  lamentably  incomplete. 
I  listen  to  a  concert  in  which  so  many  parts  are  wanting. 
The  whole  civilized  country  is,  to  some  extent,  turned  into 
a  city,  and  I  am  that  citizen  whom  I  pity.     Many  of  those 
animal    migrations    and    other   phenomena   by   which   the  25 
Indians  marked  the  season  are  no  longer  to  be  observed.     I 
seek  acquaintance  with  Nature  to  know  her   moods   and 
manners.     Primitive  nature  is  the  most  interesting  to  me. 
I  take  infinite  pains  to  know  all  the  phenomena  of  the  spring 
for  instance,  thinking  that  I  have  here  the  entire  poem,  and  30 
then,  to  my  chagrin,  I  learn  that  it  is  but  an  imperfect  copy 
that  I  possess  and  have  read,  that  my  ancestors  have  torn 
out  many  of  the  first  leaves  and  grandest  passages,  and 
mutilated  it  in  many  places.     I  should  not  like  to  think  that 
some  demigod  had  come  before  me  and  picked  out  some  of  35 
the  best  of  the  stars.     I  wish  to  know  an  entire  heaven  and 
an  entire  earth.     All  the  great  trees  and  beasts,  fishes  and 
fowl  are  gone ;  the  streams  perchance  are  somewhat  shrunk. 


204  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

HENRY   WADSWORTH   LONGFELLOW 
The  Beleaguered  City 

I  have  read,  in  some  old,  marvellous  tale, 
Some  legend  strange  and  vague, 

That  a  midnight  host  of  spectres  pale 
Beleaguered  the  walls  of  Prague. 

5  Beside  the  Moldau's  rushing  stream, 

With  the  wan  moon  overhead, 
There  stood,  as  in  an  awful  dream, 
The  army  of  the  dead. 

White  as  a  sea-fog,  landward  bound, 
10  The  spectra]  camp  was  seen, 

And,  with  a  sorrowful,  deep  sound, 
The  river  flowed  between. 

No  other  voice  nor  sound  was  there, 

No  drum,  nor  sentry's  pace  ; 

15  The  mist-like  banners  clasped  the  air 

As  clouds  with  clouds  embrace. 

But  when  the  old  cathedral  bell 

Proclaimed  the  morning  pra}Ter, 
The  white  pavilions  rose  and  fell 
20  On  the  alarmed  air. 

Down  the  broad  valley  fast  and  far 

The  troubled  army  fled ; 
Up  rose  the  glorious  morning  star, 

The  ghastly  host  was  dead. 

25  I  have  read,  in  the  marvellous  heart  of  man, 

That  strange  and  mystic  scroll, 
That  an  army  of  phantoms  vast  and  wan 
Beleaguer  the  human  soul. 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW        205 

Encamped  beside  Life's  rushing  stream, 

In  Fancy's  misty  light,  30 

Gigantic  shapes  and  shadows  glearn 

Portentous  through  the  night. 

Upon  its  midnight  battle-ground 

The  spectral  camp  is  seen, 
And,  with  a  sorrowful,  deep  sound,  35 

Flows  the  River  of  Life  between. 

No  other  voice  nor  sound  is  there, 

In  the  army  of  the  grave ; 
No  other  challenge  breaks  the  air, 

But  the  rushing  of  Life's  wave.  40 

And  when  the  solemn  and  deep  church-hell 

Entreats  the  soul  to  pray, 
The  midnight  phantoms  feel  the  spell, 

The  shadows  sweep  away. 

Down  the  broad  Vale  of  Tears  afar  45 

The  spectral  camp  is  fled ; 
Faith  shineth  as  a  morning  star, 

Our  ghastly  fears  are  dead. 

The  Building  of  the  Ship 

*  Build  me  straight,  O  worthy  Master  I 

Stanch  and  strong,  a  goodly  vessel, 
That  shall  laugh  at  all  disaster, 

And  with  wave  and  whirlwind  wrestle  I ' 

The  merchant's  word  5 

Delighted  the  Master  heard ; 

For  his  heart  was  in  his  work,  and  the  heart 

Giveth  grace  unto  every  Art. 

A  quiet  smile  played  round  his  lips, 

As  the  eddies  and  dimples  of  the  tide  10 

Play  round  the  bows  of  ships 

That  steadily  at  anchor  ride. 


206  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

And  with  a  voice  that  was  full  of  glee, 
He  answered,  *  Erelong  we  will  launch 
15  A  vessel  as  goodly,  and  strong,  and  stanch, 

As  ever  weathered  a  wintry  sea ! ' 
And  first  with  nicest  skill  and  art, 
Perfect  and  finished  in  every  part, 
A  little  model  the  Master  wrought, 

20  Which  should  be  to  the  larger  plan 

What  the  child  is  to  the  man, 
Its  counterpart  in  miniature ; 
That  with  a  hand  more  swift  and  sure 
The  greater  labor  might  be  brought 

25  To  answer  to  his  inward  thought. 

;          And  as  he  labored,  his  mind  ran  o'er 

The  various  ships  that  were  built  of  yore, 
And  above  them  all,  and  strangest  of  all 
Towered  the  Great  Harry,  crank  and  tall, 

30  Whose  picture  was  hanging  on  the  wall, 

With  bows  and  stern  raised  high  in  air, 
And  balconies  hanging  here  and  there, 
And  signal  lanterns  and  flags  afloat, 
And  eight  round  towers,  like  those  that  frown 

35  From  some  old  castle,  looking  down 

Upon  the  drawbridge  and  the  moat. 
And  he  said  with  a  smile,  « Our  ship,  I  wis, 
Shall  be  of  another  form  than  this ! ' 
It  was  of  another  form,  indeed; 

40  Built  for  freight,  and  yet  for  speed, 

A  beautiful  and  gallant  craft; 
Broad  in  the  beam,  that  the  stress  of  the  blast, 
Pressing  down  upon  sail  and  mast, 
Might  not  the  sharp  bows  overwhelm ; 

45  Broad  in  the  beam,  but  sloping  aft 

With  graceful  curve  and  slow  degrees, 
That  she  might  be  docile  to  the  helm, 
And  that  the  currents  of  parted  seas, 
Closing  behind,  with  mighty  force, 

50  Might  aid  and  not  impede  her  course. 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW        207 

In  the  ship-yard  stood  the  Master, 
With  the  model  of  the  vessel, 
That  should  laugh  at  all  disaster, 
And  with  wave  and  whirlwind  wrestle ! 

Covering  many  a  rood  of  ground,  56 

Lay  the  timber  piled  around ; 

Timber  of  chestnut,  and  elm,  and  oak, 

And  scattered  here  and  there,  with  these, 

The  knarred  and  crooked  cedar  knees ; 

Brought  from  regions  far  away,  60 

From  Pascagoula's  sunny  bay, 

And  the  banks  of  the  roaring  Roanoke ! 

Ah  !  what  a  wondrous  thing  it  is 

To  note  how  many  wheels  of  toil 

One  thought,  one  word,  can  set  in  motion!  65 

There's  not  a  ship  that  sails  the  ocean, 

But  every  climate,  every  soil, 

Must  bring  its  tribute,  great  or  small, 

And  help  to  build  the  wooden  wall ! 

The  sun  was  rising  o'er  the  sea,  70 

And  long  the  level  shadows  lay, 

As  if  they,  too,  the  beams  would  be 

Of  some  great,  airy  argosy, 

Framed  and  launched  in  a  single  day. 

That  silent  architect,  the  sun,  •  75 

Had  hewn  and  laid  them  every  one, 

Ere  the  work  of  man  was  yet  begun. 

Beside  the  Master,  when  he  spoke, 

A  youth,  against  an  anchor  leaning, 

Listened,  to  catch  his  slightest  meaning,  80 

Only  the  long  waves,  as  they  broke 

In  ripples  on  the  pebbly  beach, 

Interrupted  the  old  man's  speech. 

Beautiful  they  were,  in  sooth, 

The  old  man  and  the  fiery  youth !  85 


208  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

The  old  man,  in  whose  busy  brain 

Many  a  ship  that  sailed  the  main 

Was  modelled  o'er  and  o'er  again  ; 

The  fiery  youth,  who  was  to  be 
90  The  heir  of  his  dexterity, 

The  heir  of  his  house,  and  his  daughter's  hand, 

When  he  had  built  and  launched  from  land 

What  the  elder  head  had  planned. 

*  Thus,'  said  he,  '  will  we  build  this  ship  1 
95  Lay  square  the  blocks  upon  the  slip, 

And  follow  well  this  plan  of  mine. 

Choose  the  timbers  with  greatest  care ; 

Of  all  that  is  unsound  beware ; 

For  only  what  is  sound  and  strong 
100  To  this  vessel  shall  belong. 

Cedar  of  Maine  and  Georgia  pine 

Here  together  shall  combine. 

A  goodly  frame,  and  a  goodly  fame, 

And  the  UNION  be  her  name  ! 
105  For  the  day  that  gives  her  to  the  sea 

Shall  give  my  daughter  unto  thee  1 ' 


The  Master's  word 

Enraptured  the  young  man  heard ; 

And  as  he  turned  his  face  aside, 
110  With^a  look  of  joy  and  a  thrill  of  pride 

Standing  before 

Her  father's  door, 

He  saw  the  form  of  his  promised  bride. 

The  sun  shone  on  her  golden  hair, 
115  And  her  cheek  was  glowing  fresh  and  fair, 

With  the  breath  of  morn  and  the  soft  sea  air 

Like  a  beauteous  barge  was  she, 

Still  at  rest  on  the  sandy  beach, 

Just  beyond  the  billow's  reach ; 
120  But  he 

Was  the  restless,  seething,  stormy  sea ! 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW        209 

Ah,  how  skilful  grows  the  hand 

That  obeyeth  Love's  command  ! 

It  is  the  heart,  and  not  the  brain, 

That  to  the  highest  doth  attain,    '  125 

And  he  who  followeth  Love's  behest 

Far  excelleth  all  the  rest ! 

Thus  with  the  rising  of  the  sun 

Was  the  noble  task  begun, 

And  soon  throughout  the  ship-yard's  bounds  130 

Were  heard  the  intermingled  sounds 

Of  axes  and  of  mallets,  plied 

With  vigorous  arms  on  every  side ; 

Plied  so  deftly  and  so  well, 

That,  ere  the  shadows  of  evening  fell,  135 

The  keel  of  oak  for  a  noble  ship, 

Scarfed  and  bolted,  straight  and  strong, 

Was  lying  ready,  and  stretched  along 

The  blocks,  well  placed  upon  the  slip. 

Happy,  thrice  happy,  every  one  140 

Who  sees  his  labor  well  begun, 

And  not  perplexed  and  multiplied, 

By  idly  waiting  for  time  and  tide ! 

And  when  the  hot,  long  day  was  o'er, 

The  young  man  at  the  Master's  door  145 

Sat  with  the  maiden  calm  and  still, 

And  within  the  porch,  a  little  more 

Removed  beyond  the  evening  chill, 

The  father  sat,  and  told  them  tales 

Of  wrecks  in  the  great  September  gales,  150 

Of  pirates  coasting  the  Spanish  Main, 

And  ships  that  never  came  back  again, 

The  chance  and  change  of  a  sailor's  life, 

Want  and  plenty,  rest  and  strife, 

His  roving  fancy,  like  the  wind,  155 

That  nothing  can  stay  and  nothing  can  bind, 


210  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

And  the  magic  charm  of  foreign  lands, 
With  shadows  of  palms,  and  shining  sands, 
Where  the  tumbling  surf, 

160  O'er  the  coral  reefs  of  Madagascar, 

Washes  the  feet  of  the  swarthy  Lascar, 
As  he  lies  alone  and  asleep  on  the  turf. 
And  the  trembling  maiden  held  her  breath 
At  the  tales  of  that  awful,  pitiless  sea, 

165  With  all  its  terror  and  mystery, 

The  dim,  dark  sea,  so  like  unto  Death, 
That  divides  and  yet  unites  mankind  ! 
And  whenever  the  old  man  paused,  a  gleam 
From  the  bowl  of  his  pipe  would  awhile  illume 

170  The  silent  group  in  the  twilight  gloom, 

And  thoughtful  faces,  as  in  a  dream ; 
And  for  a  moment  one  might  mark 
What  had  been  hidden  by  the  dark, 
That  the  head  of  the  maiden  lay  at  rest, 

175  Tenderly,  on  the  young  man's  breast ! 

Day  by  day  the  vessel  grew, 
With  timbers  fashioned  strong  and  true, 
Stemson  and  keelson  and  sternson-knee, 
Till,  framed  with  perfect  symmetry, 

180  A  skeleton  ship  rose  up  to  view ! 

And  around  the  bows  and  along  the  side 
The  heavy  hammers  and  mallets  plied, 
Till  after  many  a  week,  at  length, 
Wonderful  for  form  and  strength, 

185  Sublime  in  its  enormous  bulk, 

Loomed  aloft  the  shadowy  hulk ! 
And  around  it  columns  of  smoke,  upwreathing, 
Rose  from  the  boiling,  bubbling,  seething 
Caldron,  that  glowed, 

190  And  overflowed 

With  the  black  tar,  heated  for  the  sheathing. 
And  amid  the  clamors 
Of  clattering  hammers, 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW        211 

He  who  listened  heard  now  and  then 

The  song  of  the  Master  and  his  men :  —  195 

'  Build  me  straight,  O  worthy  Master, 

Stanch  and  strong,  a  goodly  vessel, 
That  shall  laugh  at  all  disaster, 

And  with  wave  and  whirlwind  wrestle ! ' 

With  oaken  brace  and  copper  band,  200 

Lay  the  rudder  on  the  sand, 

That,  like  a  thought,  should  have  control 

Over  the  movement  of  the  whole ; 

And  near  it  the  anchor,  whose  giant  hand 

Would  reach  down  and  grapple  with  the  land,  205 

And  immovable  and  fast 

Hold  the  great  ship  against  the  bellowing  blast ! 

And  at  the  bows  an  image  stood, 

By  a  cunning  artist  carved  in  wood, 

With  robes  of  white,  that  far  behind  210 

Seemed  to  be  fluttering  in  the  wind. 

It  was  not  shaped  in  a  classic  mould, 

Not  like  a  Nymph  or  Goddess  of  old, 

Or  Naiad  rising  from  the  water, 

But  modelled  from  the  Master's  daughter !  215 

On  many  a  dreary  and  misty  night, 

'Twill  be  seen  by  the  rays  of  the  signal  light, 

Speeding  along  through  the  rain  and  the  dark, 

Like  a  ghost  in  its  snow-white  sark, 

The  pilot  of  some  phantom  bark,  220 

Guiding  the  vessel,  in  its  flight, 

By  a  path  none  other  knows  aright ! 

Behold,  at  last, 

Each  tall  and  tapering  mast 

Is  swung  into  its  place ;  225 

Shrouds  and  stays 

Holding  it  firm  and  fast ! 


212  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Long  ago, 

In  the  deer-haunted  forests  of  Maine, 
230  When  upon  mountain  and  plain 

Lay  the  snow, 

They  fell,  —  those  lordly  pines  I 

Those  grand,  majestic  pines ! 

'Mid  shouts  and  cheers 
235  The  jaded  steers, 

Panting  beneath  the  goad, 

Dragged  down  the  weary,  winding  road 

Those  captive  kings  so  straight  and  tall, 

To  be  shorn  of  their  streaming  hair, 
240  And  naked  and  bare, 

To  feel  the  stress  and  the  strain 

Of  the  wind  and  the  reeling  main, 

Whose  roar 

Would  remind  them  forevermore 
245  Of  their  native  forests  they  should  not  see  again. 

And  everywhere 

The  slender,  graceful  spars 

Poise  aloft  in  the  air, 

And  at  the  mast-head, 
250  White,  blue,  and  red, 

A  flag  unrolls  the  stripes  and  stars. 

Ah  !  when  the  wanderer,  lonely,  friendless, 

In  foreign  harbors  shall  behold 

That  flag  unrolled, 
255  'Twill  be  as  a  friendly  hand 

Stretched  out  from  his  native  land, 

Filling  his  heart  with  memories  sweet  and  endless! 


All  is  finished !  and  at  length 
Has  come  the  bridal  day 
260  Of  beauty  and  of  strength. 

To-day  the  vessel  shall  be  launched ! 
With  fleecy  clouds  the  sky  is  blanched, 
And  o'er  the  bay, 


HENRY  WADSWORTH   LONGFELLOW         213 

Slowly,  in  all  his  splendors  dight, 

The  great  sun  rises  to  behold  the  sight.  265 

The  ocean  old, 

Centuries  old, 

Strong  as  youth,  and  as  uncontrolled, 

Paces  restless  to  and  fro, 

Up  and  down  the  sands  of  gold.  270 

His  beating  heart  is  not  at  rest ; 

And  far  and  wide, 

With  ceaseless  flow, 

His  beard  of  snow 

Heaves  with  the  heaving  of  his  breast.  275 

He  waits  impatient  for  his  bride. 

There  she  stands, 

With  her  foot  upon  the  sands, 

Decked  with  flags  and  streamers  gay, 

In  honor  of  her  marriage  day,  280 

Her  snow-white  signals  fluttering,  blending, 

Round  her  like  a  veil  descending, 

Ready  to  be 

The  bride  of  the  gray  old  sea. 

On  the  deck  another  bride  285 

Is  standing  by  her  lover's  side. 

Shadows  from  the  flags  and  shrouds, 

Like  the  shadows  cast  by  clouds, 

Broken  by  many  a  sudden  fleck, 

Fall  around  them  on  the  deck.  290 

The  prayer  is  said, 

The  service  read, 

The  joyous  bridegroom  bows  his  head ; 

And  in  tears  the  good  old  Master 

Shakes  the  brown  hand  of  his  son,  295 

Kisses  his  daughter's  glowing  cheek 

In  silence,  for  he  cannot  speak, 

And  ever  faster 

Down  his  own  the  tears  begin  to  run. 


214  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

300  The  worthy  pastor  — 

The  shepherd  of  that  wandering  flock, 
That  has  the  ocean  for  its  wold, 
That  has  the  vessel  for  its  fold, 
Leaping  ever  from  rock  to  rock  — 

305  Spake,  with  accents  mild  and  clear, 

Words  of  warning,  words  of  cheer, 
But  tedious  to  the  bridegroom's  ear. 
He  knew  the  chart 
Of  the  sailor's  heart, 

310  All  its  pleasures  and  its  griefs, 

All  its  shallows  and  rocky  reefs, 
All  those  secret  currents,  that  flow 
With  such  resistless  undertow, 
And  lift  and  drift,  with  terrible  force, 

315  The  will  from  its  moorings  and  its  course. 

Therefore  he  spake,  and  thus  said  he :  — 
'  Like  unto  ships  far  off  at  sea, 
Outward  or  homeward  bound,  are  we. 
Before,  behind,  and  all  around, 

320  Floats  and  swings  the  horizon's  bound, 

Seems  at  its  distant  rim  to  rise 
And  climb  the  crystal  wall  of  the  skies, 
And  then  again  to  turn  and  sink, 
As  if  we  could  slide  from  its  outer  brink. 

325  Ah  !  it  is  not  the  sea, 

It  is  not  the  sea  that  sinks  and  shelves, 

But  ourselves 

That  rock  and  rise 

With  endless  and  uneasy  motion, 

330  Now  touching  the  very  skies, 

Now  sinking  into  the  depths  of  ocean. 
Ah !  if  our  souls  but  poise  and  swing 
Like  the  compass  in  its  brazen  ring, 
Ever  level  and  ever  true 

335  To  the  toil  and  the  task  we  have  to  do, 

We  shall  sail  securely,  and  safely  reach 
The  Fortunate  Isles,  on  whose  shining  beach 


HENRY  WADSWORTH   LONGFELLOW         215 

The  sights  we  see,  and  the  sounds  we  hear, 
Will  be  those  of  joy  and  not  of  fear  1 ' 

Then  the  Master,  340 

With  a  gesture  of  command, 

Waved  his  hand ; 

And  at  the  word, 

Loud  and  sudden  there  was  heard, 

All  around  them  and  below,  345 

The  sound  of  hammers,  blow  on  blow, 

Knocking  away  the  shores  and  spurs. 

And  see  !  she  stirs  ! 

She  starts,  —  she  moves,  —  she  seems  to  feel 

The  thrill  of  life  along  her  keel,  350 

And,  spurning  with  her  foot  the  ground, 

With  one  exulting,  joyous  bound, 

She  leaps  into  the  ocean's  arms ! 

And  lo !  from  the  assembled  crowd 

There  rose  a  shout,  prolonged  and  loud,  355 

That  to  the  ocean  seemed  to  say, 

*  Take  her,  O  bridegroom,  old  and  gray, 

Take  her  to  thy  protecting  arms, 

With  all  her  youth  and  all  her  charms  ! ' 

How  beautiful  she  is  !     How  fair  360 

She  lies  within  those  arms,  that  press 

Her  form  with  many  a  soft  caress 

Of  tenderness  and  watchful  care ! 

Sail  forth  into  the  sea,  O  ship ! 

Through  wind  and  wave,  right  onward  steer  1  365 

The  moistened  eye,  the  trembling  lip, 

Are  not  the  signs  of  doubt  or  fear. 

Sail  forth  into  the  sea  of  life, 

O  gentle,  loving,  trusting  wife, 

And  safe  from  all  adversity  370 

Upon  the  bosom  of  that  sea 

Thy  comings  and  thy  goings  be  I 


216  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

For  gentleness  and  love  and  trust 
Prevail  o'er  angry  wave  and  gust; 
375  And  in  the  wreck  of  noble  lives 

Something  immortal  still  survives  1 

Thou,  too,  sail  on,  O  Ship  of  state ! 
Sail  on  O  UNION,  strong  and  great ! 
Humanity  with  all  its  fears, 

380  With  all  the  hopes  of  future  years, 

Is  hanging  breathless  on  thy  fate ! 
We  know  what  Master  laid  thy  keel, 
What  Workmen  wrought  thy  ribs  of  steel, 
Who  made  each  mast,  and  sail,  and  rope, 

385  What  anvils  rang,  what  hammers  beat, 

In  what  a  forge  and  what  a  heat 
Were  shaped  the  anchors  of  thy  hope  ! 
Fear  not  each  sudden  sound  and  shock, 
'Tis  of  the  wave  and  not  the  rock ; 

390  'Tis  but  the  flapping  of  the  sail, 

And  not  a  rent  made  by  the  gale ! 
In  spite  of  rock  and  tempest's  roar, 
In  spite  of  false  lights  on  the  shore, 
Sail  on,  nor  fear  to  breast  the  sea ! 

395  Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  are  all  with  thee, 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  tears, 
Our  faith  triumphant  o'er  our  fears, 
Are  all  with  thee,  —  are  all  with  thee  1 

Hiawatha's  Wooing 
(From  The  Song  of  Hiawatha) 

*  As  unto  the  bow  the  cord  is, 
So  unto  the  man  is  woman ; 
Though  she  bends  him,  she  obeys  him, 
Though  she  draws  him,  yet  she  follows ; 
6  Useless  each  without  the  other  ! ' 

Thus  the  youthful  Hiawatha 
Said  within  himself  and  pondered, 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW         217 

Much  perplexed  by  various  feelings, 

Listless,  longing,  hoping,  fearing, 

Dreaming  still  of  Minnehaha,  10 

Of  the  lovely  Laughing  Water, 

In  the  land  of  the  Dacotahs. 

'  Wed  a  maiden  of  your  people,' 
Warning  said  the  old  Nokomis ; 

'  Go  not  eastward,  go  not  westward,  15 

For  a  stranger,  whom  we  know  not ! 
Like  a  fire  upon  the  hearth-stone 
Is  a  neighbor's  homely  daughter, 
Like  the  starlight  or  the  moonlight 
Is  the  handsomest  of  strangers  ! '  20 

Thus  dissuading  spake  Nokomis, 
And  my  Hiawatha  answered 
Only  this  :  «  Dear  old  Nokomis, 
Very  pleasant  is  the  firelight, 

But  I  like  the  starlight  better,  25 

Better  do  I  like  the  moonlight ! ' 

Gravely  then  said  old  Nokomis  : 

*  Bring  not  here  an  idle  maiden, 
Bring  not  here  a  useless  woman, 

Hands  unskilful,  feet  unwilling  ;  30 

Bring  a  wife  with  nimble  fingers, 
Heart  and  hand  that  move  together, 
Feet  that  run  on  willing  errands  ! ' 

Smiling  answered  Hiawatha : 

'  In  the  land  of  the  Dacotahs  35 

Lives  the  Arrow-maker's  daughter, 
Minnehaha,  Laughing  Water, 
Handsomest  of  all  the  women. 
I  will  bring  her  to  your  wigwam, 

She  shall  run  upon  your  errands,  40 

Be  your  starlight,  moonlight,  firelight, 
Be  the  sunlight  of  my  people  ! ' 

Still  dissuading  said  Nokomis : 

*  Bring  not  to  my  lodge  a  stranger 

From  the  land  of  the  Dacotahs  !  45 


218  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

V&rj  fierce  are  the  Dacotahs, 
Often  is  there  war  between  us, 
There  are  feuds  yet  unforgotten, 
Wounds  that  ache  and  still  may  open  ! ' 

50  Laughing  answered  Hiawatha : 

1  For  that  reason,  if  no  other, 
Would  I  wed  the  fair  Dacotah, 
That  our  tribes  might  be  united, 
That  old  feuds  might  be  forgotten, 

55  And  old  wounds  be  healed  forever  ! ' 

Thus  departed  Hiawatha 
To  the  land  of  the  Dacotahs, 
To  the  land  of  handsome  women ; 
Striding  over  moor  and  meadow, 

60  Through  interminable  forests, 

Through  uninterrupted  silence. 
With  his  moccasins  of  magic, 
At  each  stride  a  mile  he  measured ; 
Yet  the  way  seemed  long  before  him, 

65  And  his  heart  outran  his  footsteps ; 

And  he  journeyed  without  resting, 
Till  he  heard  the  cataract's  laughter, 
Heard  the  Falls  of  Minnehaha 
Calling  to  him  through  the  silence. 

70  '  Pleasant  is  the  sound  ! '  he  murmured, 

*  Pleasant  is  the  voice  that  calls  me ! ' 

On  the  outskirts  of  the  forests, 
'Twixt  the  shadow  and  the  sunshine, 
Herds  of  fallow  deer  were  feeding, 

75  But  they  saw  not  Hiawatha ; 

To  his  bow  he  whispered,  *  Fail  not ! ' 
To  his  arrow  whispered,  *  Swerve  not  !r 
Sent  it  singing  on  its  errand, 
To  the  red  heart  of  the  roebuck ; 

80  Threw  the  deer  across  his  shoulder, 

And  sped  forward  without  pausing. 

At  the  doorway  of  his  wigwam 
Sat  the  ancient  Arrow-maker, 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW         219 

In  the  land  of  the  Dacotahs, 

Making  arrow-heads  of  jasper  85 

Arrow-heads  of  chalcedony. 

At  his  side,  in  all  her  beauty, 

Sat  the  lovely  Minnehaha, 

Sat  his  daughter,  Laughing  Water, 

Plaiting  mats  of  flags  and  rushes ;  90 

Of  the  past  the  old  man's  thoughts  were, 

And  the  maiden's  of  the  future. 

He  was  thinking,  as  he  sat  there, 
Of  the  days  when  with  such  arrows 

He  had  struck  the  deer  and  bison,  95 

On  the  Muskoday,  the  meadow ; 
Shot  the  wild  goose,  flying  southward, 
On  the  wing,  the  clamorous  Wawa  ; 
Thinking  of  the  great  war-parties, 

How  they  came  to  buy  his  arrows,  100 

Could  not  fight  without  his  arrows. 
Ah,  no  more  such  noble  warriors 
Could  be  found  on  earth  as  they  were ! 
Now  the  men  were  all  like  women, 
Only  used  their  tongues  for  weapons  I  106 

She  was  thinking  of  a  hunter, 
From  another  tribe  and  country, 
Young  and  tall  and  very  handsome, 
Who  one  morning,  in  the  Spring-time, 

Came  to  buy  her  father's  arrows,  110 

Sat  and  rested  in  the  wigwam, 
Lingered  long  about  the  doorway, 
Looking  back  as  he  departed. 
She  had  heard  her  father  praise  him, 

Praise  his  courage  and  his  wisdom ;  115 

Would  he  come  again  for  arrows 
To  the  Falls  of  Minnehaha? 
On  the  mat  her  hands  lay  idle, 
And  her  eyes  were  very  dreamy. 

Through  their  thoughts  they  heard  a  footstep,  120 

Heard  a  rustling  in  the  branches, 


220  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And  with  glowing  cheek  and  forehead, 
With  the  deer  upon  his  shoulders, 
Suddenly  from  out  the  woodlands 

125  Hiawatha  stood  before  them. 

Straight  the  ancient  Arrow-maker 
Looked  up  gravely  from  his  labor, 
Laid  aside  the  unfinished  arrow, 
Bade  him  enter  at  the  doorway, 

130  Saying,  as  he  rose  to  meet  him, 

'  Hiawatha,  you  are  welcome ! ' 

At  the  feet  of  Laughing  Water 
Hiawatha  laid  his  burden, 
Threw  the  red  deer  from  his  shoulders  ; 

135  And  the  maiden  looked  up  at  him, 

Looked  up  from  her  mat  of  rushes, 
Said  with  gentle  look  and  accent, 
*  You  are  welcome,  Hiawatha ! ' 
Very  spacious  was  the  wigwam, 

140  Made  of  deer-skins  dressed  and  whitened, 

With  the  Gods  of  the  Dacotahs 
Drawn  and  painted  on  its  curtains, 
And  so  tall  the  doorway,  hardly 
Hiawatha  stooped  to  enter, 

145  Hardly  touched  his  eagle-feathers 

As  he  entered  at  the  doorway. 

Then  up  rose  the  Laughing  Water, 
From  the  ground  fair  Minnehaha, 
Laid  aside  her  mat  unfinished, 

150  Brought  forth  food  and  set  before  them, 

Water  brought  them  from  the  brooklet, 
Gave  them  food  in  earthen  vessels, 
Gave  them  drink  in  bowls  of  bass-wood, 
Listened  while  the  guest  was  speaking, 

155  Listened  while  her  father  answered, 

But  not  once  her  lips  she  opened, 
Not  a  single  word  she  uttered. 

Yes,  as  in  a  dream  she  listened 
To  the  words  of  Hiawatha, 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW         221 

As  he  talked  of  old  Nokomis,  160 

Who  had  nursed  him  in  his  childhood, 

As  he  told  of  his  companions, 

Chibiabos,  the  musician, 

And  the  very  strong  man,  Kwasind, 

And  of  happiness  and  plenty  165 

In  the  land  of  the  Ojibways, 

In  the  pleasant  land  and  peaceful. 

1  After  many  years  of  warfare, 
Many  years  of  strife  and  bloodshed, 

There  is  peace  between  the  Ojibways  170 

And  the  tribe  of  the  Dacotahs.' 
Thus  continued  Hiawatha, 
And  then  added,  speaking  slowly, 
'  That  this  peace  may  last  forever, 

And  our  hands  be  clasped  more  closely,  175 

And  our  hearts  be  more  united, 
Give  me  as  my  wife  this  maiden, 
Minnehaha,  Laughing  Water, 
Loveliest  of  Dacotah  Women  ! ' 

And  the  ancient  Arrow-maker,  IgO 

Paused  a  moment  ere  he  answered, 
Smoked  a  little  while  in  silence, 
Looked  at  Hiawatha  proudly, 
Fondly  looked  at  Laughing  Water, 

And  made  answer  very  gravely :  j§5 

4  Yes,  if  Minnehaha  wishes ; 
Let  your  heart  speak,  Minnehaha ! ' 

And  the  lovely  Laughing  Water 
Seemed  more  lovely  as  she  stood  there, 

Neither  willing  nor  reluctant,  190 

As  she  went  to  Hiawatha, 
Softly  took  the  seat  beside  him, 
While  she  said,  and  blushed  to  say  it, 
1 1  will  follow  you,  my  husband  ! ' 

This  was  Hiawatha's  wooing !  jg5 

Thus  it  was  he  won  the  daughter 


222  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Of  the  ancient  Arrow-maker, 
In  the  land  of  the  Dacotahs ! 
From  the  wigwam  he  departed, 

200  Leading  with  him  Laughing  Water ; 

Hand  in  hand  they  went  together, 
Through  the  woodland  and  the  meadow, 
Left  the  old  man  standing  lonely 
At  the  doorway  of  his  wigwam, 

205  Heard  the  Falls  of  Minnehaha 

Calling  to  them  from  the  distance, 
Crying  to  them  from  afar  off, 
'  Fare  thee  well,  O  Minnehaha ! ' 
And  the  ancient  Arrow-maker 

2io  Turned  again  unto  his  labor, 

Sat  down  by  his  sunny  doorway, 
Murmuring  to  himself,  and  saying : 
'  Thus  it  is  our  daughters  leave  us, 
Those  we  love,  and  those  who  love  us ! 

215  Just  when  they  have  learned  to  help  us, 

When  we  are  old  and  lean  upon  them, 
Comes  a  youth  with  flaunting  feathers, 
With  his  flute  of  reeds,  a  stranger 
Wanders  piping  through  the  village, 

220  Beckons  to  the  fairest  maiden, 

And  she  follows  where  he  leads  her, 
Leaving  all  things  for  the  stranger ! ' 

Pleasant  was  the  journey  homeward, 
Through  interminable  forests, 

225  Over  meadow,  over  mountain, 

Over  river,  hill,  and  hollow. 
Short  it  seemed  to  Hiawatha, 
Though  they  journeyed  very  slowly, 
Though  his  pace  he  checked  and  slackened 

230  To  the  steps  of  Laughing  Water. 

Over  wide  and  rushing  rivers 
In  his  arms  he  bore  the  maiden ; 
Light  he  thought  her  as  a  feather, 
As  the  plume  upon  his  head-gear ; 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW         223 

Cleared  the  tangled  pathway  for  her,  235 

Bent  aside  the  swaying  branches, 

Made  at  night  a  lodge  of  branches, 

And  a  bed  with  boughs  of  hemlock, 

And  a  fire  before  the  doorway 

With  the  dry  cones  of  the  pine-tree.  240 

All  the  travelling  winds  went  with  them, 
O'er  the  meadows,  through  the  forest ; 
All  the  stars  of  night  looked  at  them, 
Watched  with  sleepless  eyes  their  slumber ; 
From  his  ambush  in  the  oak-tree  245 

Peeped  the  squirrel,  Adjidaumo, 
Watched  with  eager  eyes  the  lovers ; 
And  the  rabbit,  the  Wabasso, 
Scampered  from  the  path  before  them, 

Peering,  peeping  from  his  burrow,  260 

Sat  erect  upon  his  haunches, 
Watched  with  curious  eyes  the  lovers. 

Pleasant  was  the  journey  homeward  1 
All  the  birds  sang  loud  and  sweetly 

Songs  of  happiness  and  heart's-ease  ;  255 

Sang  the  bluebird,  the  Owaissa, 
'  Happy  are  you,  Hiawatha, 
Having  such  a  wife  to  love  you  ! ' 
Sang  the  robin,  the  Opechee, 

'  Happy  are  you,  Laughing  Water,  260 

Having  such  a  noble  husband ! ' 

From  the  sky  the  sun  benignant 
Looked  upon  them  through  the  branches, 
Saying  to  them,  '  O  my  children, 

Love  is  sunshine,  hate  is  shadow,  265 

Life  is  checkered  shade  and  sunshine, 
Rule  by  love,  O  Hiawatha ! ' 

From  the  sky  the  moon  looked  at  them, 
Filled  the  lodge  with  mystic  splendors, 

Whispered  to  them,  <  O  my  children,  270 

Day  is  restless,  night  is  quiet, 
Man  imperious,  woman  feeble ; 


224  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Half  is  mine,  although  I  follow  ; 
Rule  by  patience,  Laughing  Water  ! ' 

275  Thus  it  was  they  journeyed  homeward ; 

Thus  it  was  that  Hiawatha 
To  the  lodge  of  old  Nokomis 
Brought  the  moonlight,  starlight,  firelight, 
Brought  the  sunshine  of  his  people, 

280  Minnehaha,  Laughing  Water, 

Handsomest  of  all  the  women 
In  the  land  of  the  Dacotahs, 
In  the  land  of  handsome  women. 


The  Birds  of  Killingworth 

It  was  the  season,  when  through  all  the  land 
The  merle  and  mavis  build,  and  building  sing 

Those  lovely  lyrics,  written  by  his  hand, 

Whom  Saxon  Csedmon  calls  the  Blitheheart  King ; 
5         When  on  the  boughs  the  purple  buds  expand, 
The  banners  of  the  vanguard  of  the  Spring, 

And  rivulets,  rejoicing,  rush  and  leap, 

And  wave  their  fluttering  signals  from  the  steep. 

The  robin  and  the  bluebird,  piping  loud, 
10  Filled  all  the  blossoming  orchards  with  their  glee ; 

The  sparrows  chirped  as  if  they  still  were  proud 
Their  race  in  Holy  Writ  should  mentioned  be; 
And  hungry  crows,  assembled  in  a  crowd, 

Clamored  their  piteous  prayer  incessantly, 
15         Knowing  who  hears  the  ravens  cry,  and  said  : 
'  Give  us,  O  Lord,  this  day,  our  daily  bread  !  " 

Across  the  Sound  the  birds  of  passage  sailed, 

Speaking  some  unknown  language  strange  and  sweet 

Of  tropic  isle  remote,  and  passing  hailed 
20  The  village  with  the  cheers  of  all  their  fleet ; 

Or  quarrelling  together,  laughed  and  railed 
Like  foreign  sailors,  landed  in  the  street 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW         225 

Of  seaport  town,  and  with  outlandish  noise 

Of  oaths  and  gibberish  frightening  girls  and  boys. 

Thus  came  the  jocund  Spring  in  Killingworth,  25 

In  fabulous  days,  some  hundred  years  ago ; 
And  thrifty  farmers,  as  they  tilled  the  earth, 

Heard  with  alarm  the  cawing  of  the  crow, 
That  mingled  with  the  universal  mirth, 

Cassandra-like,  prognosticating  woe  ;  30 

They  shook  their  heads,  and  doomed  with  dreadful  words 
To  swift  destruction  the  whole  race  of  birds. 

And  a  town -meeting  was  convened  straightway 

To  set  a  price  upon  the  guilty  heads 
Of  these  marauders,  who.  in  lieu  of  pay,  35 

Levied  black-mail  upon  the  garden  beds 
And  cornfields,  and  beheld  without  dismay 

The  awful  scarecrow,  with  his  fluttering  shreds ; 
The  skeleton  that  waited  at  their  feast, 
Whereby  their  sinful  pleasure  was  increased.  40 

Then  from  his  house,  a  temple  painted  white, 

With  fluted  columns,  and  a  roof  of  red, 
The  Squire  came  forth,  august  and  splendid  sight ! 

Slowly  descending,  with  majestic  tread, 
Three  flights  of  steps,  nor  looking  left  nor  right,  45. 

Down  the  long  street  he  walked,  as  one  who  said, 
'  A  town  that  boasts  inhabitants  like  me 
Can  have  no  lack  of  good  society  ! ' 

The  Parson,  too,  appeared,  a  man  austere, 

The  instinct  of  whose  nature  was  to  kill ;  50 

The  wrath  of  God  he  preached  from  year  to  year, 

And  read,  with  fervor,  Edwards  on  the  Will ; 
His  favorite  pastime  was  to  slay  the  deer 

In  summer  on  some  Adirondac  hill; 

E'en  now,  while  walking  down  the  rural  lane,  55 

He  lopped  the  wayside  lilies  with  his  cane. 


226  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

From  the  Academy,  whose  belfry  crowned 
The  hill  of  Science  with  its  vane  of  brass, 

Came  the  Preceptor,  gazing  idly  round, 
60  Now  at  the  clouds,  and  now  at  the  green  grass, 

And  all  absorbed  in  reveries  profound 
Of  fair  Almira  in  the  upper  class, 

Who  was,  as  in  a  sonnet  he  had  said, 

As  pure  as  water,  and  as  good  as  bread. 


65         And  next  the  Deacon  issued  from  his  door, 

In  his  voluminous  neck-cloth,  white  as  snow ; 
A  suit  of  sable  bombazine  he  wore  ; 

His  form  was  ponderous,  and  his  step  was  slow ; 
There  never  was  so  wise  a  man  before ; 
70  He  seemed  the  incarnate  «  Well,  I  told  you  so  ! ' 

And  to  perpetuate  his  great  renown 
There  was  a  street  named  after  him  in  town. 


These  came  together  in  the  new  town-hall, 

With  sundry  farmers  from  the  region  round. 
75         The  Squire  presided,  dignified  and  tall, 

His  air  impressive  and  his  reasoning  sound ; 
111  fared  it  with  the  birds,  both  great  and  small ; 
Hardly  a  friend  in  all  that  crowd  they  found, 
But  enemies  enough,  who  every  one 
80         Charged  them  with  all  the  crimes  beneath  the  sun. 


When  they  had  ended,  from  his  place  apart 
Rose  the  Preceptor,  to  redress  the  wrong, 

And,  trembling  like  a  steed  before  the  start, 

Looked  round  bewildered  on  the  expectant  throng ; 
85          Then  thought  of  fair  Almira,  and  took  heart 

To  speak  out  what  was  in  him,  clear  and  strong, 

Alike  regardless  of  their  smile  or  frown, 

And  quite  determined  not  to  be  laughed  down. 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW         227 

1  Plato,  anticipating  the  Reviewers, 

From  his  Republic  banished  without  pity  90 

The  Poets  ;  in  this  little  town  of  yours, 

You  put  to  death,  by  means  of  a  Committee, 
The  ballad-singers  and  the  Troubadours, 

The  street-musicians  of  the  heavenly  city, 

The  birds,  who  make  sweet  music  for  us  all  95 

In  our  dark  hours,  as  David  did  for  Saul. 


« The  thrush  that  carols  at  the  dawn  of  day 

From  the  green  steeples  of  the  piny  wood ; 
The  oriole  in  the  elm  ;  the  noisy  jay, 

Jargoning  like  a  foreigner  at  his  food ;  100 

The  bluebird  balanced  on  some  topmost  spray, 

Flooding  with  melody  the  neighborhood ; 
Linnet  and  meadow-lark,  and  all  the  throng 
That  dwell  in  nests,  and  have  the  gift  of  song. 


'  You  slay  them  all !  and  wherefore?  for  the  gain  105 

Of  a  scant  handful  more  or  less  of  wheat, 
Or  rye,  or  barley,  or  some  other  grain, 

Scratched  up  at  random  by  industrious  feet, 
Searching  for  worm  or  weevil  after  rain  ! 

Or  a  few  cherries,  that  are  not  so  sweet  110 

As  are  the  songs  these  uninvited  guests 
Sing  at  their  feast  with  comfortable  breasts. 


'  Do  you  ne'er  think  what  wondrous  beings  these? 

Do  you  ne'er  think  who  made  them,  and  who  taught 
The  dialect  they  speak,  where  melodies  115 

Alone  are  the  interpreters  of  thought  ? 
Whose  household  words  are  songs  in  many  keys, 

Sweeter  than  instrument  of  man  e'er  caught  1 
Whose  habitations  in  the  tree-tops  even 
Are  half-way  houses  on  the  road  to  heaven !  126 


228  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

'  Think,  every  morning  when  the  sun  peeps  through 
The  dim,  leaf -latticed  windows  of  the  grove, 

How  jubilant  the  happy  birds  renew 

Their  old,  melodious  madrigals  of  love  ! 
125         And  when  you  think  of  this,  remember  too 

'Tis  always  morning  somewhere,  and  above 

The  awakening  continents,  from  shore  to  shore, 

Somewhere  the  birds  are  singing  evermore. 

'  Think  of  your  woods  and  orchards  without  birds  1 
130  Of  empty  nests  that  cling  to  boughs  and  beams 

As  in  an  idiot's  brain  remembered  words 

Hang  empty  'mid  the  cobwebs  of  his  dreams ! 
Will  bleat  of  flocks  or  bellowing  of  herds 

Make  up  for  the  lost  music,  when  your  teams 
135         Drag  home  the  stingy  harvest,  and  no  more 
The  feathered  gleaners  follow  to  your  door? 

'  What !  would  you  rather  see  the  incessant  stir 

Of  insects  in  the  windrows  of  the  hay, 
And  hear  the  locust  and  the  grasshopper 
140  Their  melancholy  hurdy-gurdies  play? 

Is  this  more  pleasant  to  you  than  the  whir 

Of  meadow-lark,  and  her  sweet  roundelay, 
Or  twitter  of  little  field-fares,  as  you  take 
Your  nooning  in  the  shade  of  bush  and  brake? 

145         *  You  call  them  thieves  and  pillagers  ;  but  know, 

They  are  the  winged  wardens  of  your  farms, 
Who  from  the  cornfields  drive  the  insidious  foe, 

And  from  your  harvests  keep  a  hundred  harms ; 
Even  the  blackest  of  them  all,  the  crow, 
150  Renders  good  service  as  your  man-at-arms, 

Crushing  the  beetle  in  his  coat  of  mail, 
And  crying  havoc  on  the  slug  and  snail. 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW         229 

'  How  can  I  teach  your  children  gentleness, 

And  mercy  to  the  weak,  and  reverence 
For  Life,  which,  in  its  weakness  or  excess,  155 

Is  still  a  gleam  of  God's  omnipotence, 
Or  Death,  which,  seeming  darkness,  is  no  less 

The  selfsame  light,  although  averted  hence, 
When  by  your  laws,  your  actions,  and  your  speech, 
You  contradict  the  very  things  I  teach  ? '  160 


With  this  he  closed ;  and  through  the  audience  went 

A  murmur,  like  the  rustle  of  dead  leaves ; 
The  farmers  laughed  and  nodded,  and  some  bent 

Their  yellow  heads  together  like  their  sheaves ; 
Men  have  no  faith  in  fine-spun  sentiment  165 

Who  put  their  trust  in  bullocks  and  in  beeves. 
The  birds  were  doomed ;  and,  as  the  record  shows, 
A  bounty  offered  for  the  heads  of  crows. 


There  was  another  audience  out  of  reach, 

Who  had  no  voice  nor  vote  in  making  laws,  170 

But  in  the  papers  read  his  little  speech, 

And  crowned  his  modest  temples  with  applause ; 
They  made  him  conscious,  each  one  more  than  each, 

He  still  was  victor,  vanquished  in  their  cause. 
Sweetest  of  all  the  applause  he  won  from  thee,  175 

O  fair  Almira  at  the  Academy ! 


And  so  the  dreadful  massacre  began ; 

O'er  fields  and  orchards,  and  o'er  woodland  crests, 
The  ceaseless  fusillade  of  terror  ran. 

Dead  fell  the  birds,  with  blood-stains  on  their  breasts,  180 

Or  wounded  crept  away  from  sight  of  man, 

While  the  young  died  of  famine  in  their  nests ; 
A  slaughter  to  be  told  in  groans,  not  words, 
The  very  St.  Bartholomew  of  Birds ! 


230  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

185         The  summer  came,  and  all  the  birds  were  dead ; 
The  days  were  like  hot  coals ;  the  very  ground 
Was  burned  to  ashes ;  in  the  orchards  fed 

Myriads  of  caterpillars,  and  around 
The  cultivated  fields  and  garden  beds 
190  Hosts  of  devouring  insects  crawled,  and  found 

No  foe  to  check  their  march,  till  they  had  made 
The  land  a  desert  without  leaf  or  shade. 


Devoured  by  worms,  like  Herod,  was  the  town, 

Because,  like  Herod,  it  had  ruthlessly 
195         Slaughtered  the  Innocents.     From  the  trees  spun  down 

The  canker-worms  upon  the  passers-by, 
Upon  each  woman's  bonnet,  shawl,  and  gown, 

Who  shook  them  off  with  just  a  little  cry ; 
They  were  the  terror  of  each  favorite  walk, 
200         The  endless  theme  of  all  the  village  talk. 


The  farmers  grew  impatient,  but  a  few 

Confessed  their  error,  and  would  not  complain, 

For  after  all,  the  best  thing  one  can  do 

When  it  is  raining,  is  to  let  it  rain. 

205         Then  they  repealed  the  law,  although  they  knew 
It  would  not  call  the  dead  to  life  again ; 

As  school-boys,  finding  their  mistake  too  late, 

Draw  a  wet  sponge  across  the  accusing  slate. 


That  year  in  Killingworth  the  Autumn  came 
210  Without  the  light  of  his  majestic  look, 

The  wonder  of  the  falling  tongues  of  flame, 

The  illumined  pages  of  his  Doom's-Day  book. 
A  few  lost  leaves  blushed  crimson  with  their  shame, 
And  drowned  themselves  despairing  in  the  brook, 
215         While  the  wild  wind  went  moaning  everywhere, 
Lamenting  the  dead  children  of  the  air  1 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW         231 

But  the  next  spring  a  stranger  sight  was  seen, 

A  sight  that  never  yet  by  bard  was  sung, 
As  great  a  wonder  as  it  would  have  been 

If  some  dumb  animal  had  found  a  tongue !  220 

A  wagon,  overarched  with  evergreen, 

Upon  whose  boughs  were  wicker  cages  hung, 
All  full  of  singing  birds,  came  down  the  street, 
Filling  the  air  with  music  wild  and  sweet, 

From  all  the  county  round  these  birds  were  brought,        225 

By  order  of  the  town,  with  anxious  quest, 
And,  loosened  from  their  wicker  prisons,  sought 

In  woods  and  fields  the  places  they  loved  best, 
Singing  loud  canticles,  which  many  thought 

Were  satires  to  the  authorities  addressed,  230 

While  others,  listening  in  green  lanes,  averred 
Such  lovely  music  never  had  been  heard  ! 

But  blither  still  and  louder  carolled  they 
Upon  the  morrow,  for  they  seemed  to  know 

It  was  the  fair  Almira's  wedding-day,  235 

And  everywhere,  around,  above,  below, 

When  the  Preceptor  bore  his  bride  away, 
Their  songs  burst  forth  in  joyous  overflow, 

And  a  new  heaven  bent  over  a  new  earth 

Amid  the  sunny  farms  of  Killingworth.  240 


The  Hanging  of  the  Crane 


The  lights  are  out,  and  gone  are  all  the  guests 
That  thronging  came  with  merriment  and  jests 

To  celebrate  the  Hanging  of  the  Crane 
In  the  new  house,  —  into  the  night  are  gone ; 
But  still  the  fire  upon  the  hearth  burns  on, 
And  I  alone  remain. 


232  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

O  fortunate,  O  happy  day, 
When  a  new  household  finds  its  place 
Among  the  myriad  homes  of  earth, 
10  Like  a  new  star  just  sprung  to  birth, 

And  rolled  on  its  harmonious  way 
Into  the  boundless  realms  of  space  1 

So  said  the  guests  in  speec*h  and  song. 
As  in  the  chimney,  burning  bright, 
15  We  hung  the  iron  crane  to-night, 

And  merry  was  the  feast  and  long. 

ii 

And  now  I  sit  and  muse  on  what  may  be, 
And  in  my  vision  see,  or  seem  to  see, 

Through  floating  vapors  interfused  with  light, 
20  Shapes  indeterminate,  that  gleam  and  fade, 

As  shadows  passing  into  deeper  shade 
Sink  and  elude  the  sight. 

For  two  alone,  there  in  the  hall, 
Is  spread  the  table  round  and  small ; 
25  Upon  the  polished  silver  shine 

The  evening  lamps,  but,  more  divine, 
The  light  of  love  shines  over  all ; 
Of  love,  that  says  not  mine  and  thine, 
But  ours,  for  ours  is  thine  and  mine. 

30  They  want  no  guests,  to  come  between 

Their  tender  glances  like  a  screen, 
And  tell  them  tales  of  land  and  sea, 
And  whatsoever  may  betide 
The  great,  forgotten  world  outside  ; 

35  They  want  no  guests ;  they  needs  must  be 

Each  other's  own  best  company. 


in 


The  picture  fades ;  as  at  a  village  fair 
A  showman's  views,  dissolving  into  air, 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW         233 

Again  appear  transfigured  on  the  screen, 

So  in  my  fancy  this ;  and  now  once  more,  40 

In  part  transfigured,  through  the  open  door 
Appears  the  selfsame  scene. 


Seated,  I  see  the  two  again, 

But  not  alone ;  they  entertain 

A  little  angel  unaware,  45 

With  face  as  round  as  is  the  moon, 

A  royal  guest  with  flaxen  hair, 

Who,  throned  upon  his  lofty  chair, 

Drums  on  the  table  with  his  spoon, 

Then  drops  it  careless  on  the  floor,  50 

To  grasp  at  things  unseen  before. 


Are  these  celestial  manners  ?  these 

The  ways  that  win,  the  arts  that  please  ? 

Ah  yes  ;  consider  well  the  guest, 

And  whatsoe'er  he  does  seems  best ;  55 

He  ruleth  by  the  right  divine 

Of  helplessness,  so  lately  born 

In  purple  chambers  of  the  morn, 

As  sovereign  over  thee  and  thine. 

He  speaketh  not ;  and  yet  there  lies  60 

A  conversation  in  his  eyes ; 

The  golden  silence  of  the  Greek, 

The  gravest  wisdom  of  the  wise, 

Not  spoken  in  language,  but  in  looks 

More  legible  than  printed  books,  65 

As  if  he  could  but  would  not  speak. 

And  now,  O  monarch  absolute, 

Thy  power  is  put  to  proof ;  for,  lo  ! 

Resistless,  fathomless>  and  slow, 

The  nurse  comes  rustling  like  the  sea,  70 

And  pushes  back  thy  chair  and  thee, 

And  so  good  night  to  King  Canute. 


234  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


IV 

As  one  who  walking  in  a  forest  sees 
A  lovely  landscape  through  the  parted  trees, 
75  Then  sees  it  not,  for  boughs  that  intervene  ; 

Or  as  we  see  the  moon  sometimes  revealed 
Through  drifting  clouds,  and  then  again  concealed, 
So  I  behold  the  scene. 

There  are  two  guests  at  table  now ; 
80  The  king,  deposed  and  older  grown, 

No  longer  occupies  the  throne,  — 

The  crown  is  on  his  sister's  brow ;     • 

A  Princess  from  the  Fairy  Isles, 

The  very  pattern  girl  of  girls, 
85  All  covered  and  embowered  in  curls, 

Rose-tinted  from  the  Isle  of  Flowers, 

And  sailing  with  soft,  silken  sails 

From  far-off  Dreamland  into  ours. 

Above  their  bowls  with  rims  of  blue 
90  Four  azure  eyes  of  deeper  hue 

Are  looking,  dreamy  with  delight ; 

Limpid  as  planets  that  emerge 

Above  the  ocean's  rounded  verge. 

Soft-shining  through  the  summer  night. 
95  Steadfast  they  gaze,  yet  nothing  see 

Beyond  the  horizon  of  their  bowls ; 

Nor  care  they  for  the  world  that  rolls 

With  all  its  freight  of  troubled  souls 

Into  the  days  that  are  to  be. 


100  Again  the  tossing  boughs  shut  out  the  scene, 

Again  the  drifting  vapors  intervene, 

And  the  moon's  pallid  disk  is  hidden  quite ; 
And  now  I  see  the  table  wider  grown, 
As  round  a  pebble  into  water  thrown 

105  Dilates  a  ring  of  light. 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW         235 

I  see  the  table  wider  grown, 

I  see  it  garlanded  with  guests, 

As  if  fair  Ariadne's  Crown 

Out  of  the  sky  had  fallen  down ; 

Maidens  within  whose  tender  breasts  110 

A  thousand  restless  hopes  and  fears, 

Forth  reaching  to  the  coining  years, 

Flutter  awhile,  then  quiet  lie, 

Like  timid  birds  that  fain  would  fly, 

But  do  not  dare  to  leave  their  nests ;  —  115 

And  youths,  who  in  their  strength  elate 

Challenge  the  van  and  front  of  fate, 

Eager  as  champions  to  be 

In  the  divine  knight-errantry 

Of  youth,  that  travels  sea  and  land  120 

Seeking  adventures,  or  pursues, 

Through  cities,  and  through  solitudes 

Frequented  by  the  lyric  Muse, 

The  phantom  with  the  beckoning  hand, 

That  still  allures  and  still  eludes.  125 

O  sweet  illusions  of  the  brain  ! 

O  sudden  thrills  of  fire  and  frost ! 

The  world  is  bright  while  ye  remain, 

And  dark  and  dead  when  ye  are  lost ! 

VI 

The  meadow-brook,  that  seemeth  to  stand  still,  130 

Quickens  its  current  as  it  nears  the  mill ; 

And  so  the  stream  of  Time  that  lingereth 
In  level  places,  and  so  dull  appears, 
Runs  with  a  swifter  current  as  it  nears 

The  gloomy  mills  of  Death.  135 

And  now,  like  the  magician's  scroll, 
That  in  the  owner's  keeping  shrinks 
With  every  wish  he  speaks  or  thinks, 
Till  the  last  wish  consumes  the  whole, 


236  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

140  The  table  dwindles,  and  again 

I  see  the  two  alone  remain. 

The  crown  of  stars  is  broken  in  parts ; 

Its  jewels,  brighter  than  the  day, 

Have  one  by  one  been  stolen  away 
145  To  shine  in  other  homes  and  hearts. 

One  is  a  wanderer  now  afar 

In  Ceylon  or  in  Zanzibar, 

Or  sunny  regions  of  Cathay ; 

And  one  is  in  the  boisterous  camp 
150  'Mid  clink  of  arms  and  horses'  tramp, 

And  battle's  terrible  array. 

I  see  the  patient  mother  read, 

With  aching  heart,  of  wrecks  that  float 

Disabled  on  those  seas  remote, 
155  Or  of  some  great  heroic  deed 

On  battle-fields,  where  thousands  bleed 

To  lift  one  hero  into  fame. 

Anxious  she  bends  her  graceful  head 

Above  these  chronicles  of  pain, 
160  And  trembles  with  a  secret  dread 

Lest  there  among  the  drowned  or  slain 

She  find  the  one  beloved  name. 

VII 

After  a  day  of  cloud  and  wind  and  rain 
Sometimes  the  setting  sun  breaks  out  again, 
165  And,  touching  all  the  darksome  woods  with  light, 

Smiles  on  the  fields,  until  they  laugh  and  sing, 
Then  like  a  ruby  from  the  horizon's  ring 
Drops  down  into  the  night. 

What  see  I  now  ?     The  night  is  fair, 
170  The  storm  of  grief,  the  clouds  of  care, 

The  wind,  the  rain,  have  passed  away; 
The  lamps  are  lit,  the  fires  burn  bright, 
The  house  is  full  of  life  and  light ; 
It  is  the  Golden  Wedding  day. 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW        237 

The  guests  come  thronging  in  once  more,  175 

Quick  footsteps  sound  along  the  floor, 

The  trooping  children  crowd  the  stair, 

And  in  and  out  and  everywhere 

Flashes  along  the  corridor 

The  sunshine  of  their  golden  hair.  180 

On  the  round  table  in  the  hall 

Another  Ariadne's  Crown 

Out  of  the  sky  hath  fallen  down ; 

More  than  one  Monarch  of  the  Moon 

Is  drumming  with  his  silver  spoon ;  185 

The  light  of  love  shines  over  all. 

O  fortunate,  O  happy  day ! 

The  people  sing,  the  people  say. 

The  ancient  bridegroom  and  the  bride, 

Smiling  contented  and  serene  190 

Upon  the  blithe,  bewildering  scene, 

Behold,  well  pleased,  on  every  side 

Their  forms  and  features  multiplied, 

As  the  reflection  of  a  light 

Between  two  burnished  mirrors  gleams,  195 

Or  lamps  upon  a  bridge  at  night 

Stretch  on  and  on  before  the  sight, 

Till  the  long  vista  endless  seems. 


The  Cross  of  Snow 

In  the  long,  sleepless  watches  of  the  night, 

A  gentle  face  —  the  face  of  one  long  dead  — 

Looks  at  me  from  the  wall,  where  round  its  head 

The  night-lamp  casts  a  halo  of  pale  light. 

Here  in  this  room  she  died  ;  and  soul  more  white 

Never  through  martyrdom  of  fire  was  led 

To  its  repose  ;  nor  can  in  books  be  read 

The  legend  of  a  life  more  benedight. 

There  is  a  mountain  in  the  distant  West, 


238  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

10  That,  sun-defying,  in  its  deep  ravines 

Displays  a  cross  of  snow  upon  its  side. 
Such  is  the  cross  I  wear  upon  my  breast 
These  eighteen  years,  through  all  the  changing  scenes 
And  seasons,  changeless  since  the  day  she  died. 

JAMES   RUSSELL  LOWELL 
My  Love 

Not  as  all  other  women  are 
Is  she  that  to  my  soul  is  dear ; 
Her  glorious  fancies  come  from  far, 
Beneath  the  silver  evening-star, 
6  And  yet  her  heart  is  ever  near. 

Great  feelings  hath  she  of  her  own, 
Which  lesser  souls  may  never  know ; 
God  giveth  them  to  her  alone, 
And  sweet  they  are  as  any  tone 
10  Wherewith  the  wind  may  choose  to  blow. 

Yet  in  herself  she  dwelleth  not, 
Although  no  home  were  half  so  fair; 
No  simplest  duty  is  forgot, 
Life  hath  no  dim  and  lowly  spot 
15  That  doth  not  in  her  sunshine  share. 

She  doeth  little  kindnesses, 
Which  most  leave  undone,  or  despise : 
For  naught  that  sets  one  heart  at  ease, 
And  giveth  happiness  or  peace, 
20  Is  low-esteemed  in  her  eyes. 

She  hath  no  scorn  of  common  things, 
And,  though  she  seem  of  other  birth, 
Round  us  her  heart  intwines  and  clings, 
And  patiently  she  folds  her  wings 
25  To  tread  the  humble  paths  of  earth. 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  239 

Blessing  she  is :  God  made  her  so, 

And  deeds  of  week-day  holiness 

Fall  from  her  noiseless  as  the  snow, 

Nor  hath  she  ever  chanced  to  know 

That  aught  were  easier  than  to  bless.  30 

She  is  most  fair,  and  thereunto 

Her  life  doth  rightly  harmonize ; 

Feeling  or  thought  that  was  not  true 

Ne'er  made  less  beautiful  the  blue 

Unclouded  heaven  of  her  eyes.  35 

She  is  a  woman  :  one  in  whom 

The  spring-time  of  her  childish  years 

Hath  never  lost  its  fresh  perfume, 

Though  knowing  well  that  life  hath  room 

For  many  blights  and  many  tears. .  40 

I  love  her  with  a  love  as  still 

As  a  broad  river's  peaceful  might, 

Which,  by  high  tower  and  lowly  mill, 

Seems  following  its  own  wayward  will, 

And  yet  doth  ever  flow  aright.  45 

And,  on  its  full,  deep  breast  serene, 

Like  quiet  isles  my  duties  lie  ; 

It  flows  around  them  and  between, 

And  makes  them  fresh  and  fair  and  green, 

Sweet  homes  wherein  to  live  and  die.  50 


Stanzas  on  Freedom 

Men !  whose  boast  it  is  that  ye 
Come  of  fathers  brave  and  free, 
If  there  breathe  on  earth  a  slave, 
Are  ye  truly  free  and  brave  ? 
If  ye  do  not  feel  the  chain, 
When  it  works  a  brother's  pain, 
Are  ye  not  base  slaves  indeed, 
Slaves  unworthy  to  be  freed? 


240  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Women  !  who  shall  one  day  bear 
10  Sons  to  breathe  New  England  air, 

If  ye  hear,  without  a  blush, 
Deeds  to  make  the  roused  blood  rush 
Like  red  lava  through  your  veins, 
For  your  sisters  now  in  chains, — 
15  Answer  !  are  ye  fit  to  be 

Mothers  of  the  brave  and  free  ? 


Is  true  Freedom  but  to  break 
Fetters  for  our  own  dear  sake, 
And,  with  leathern  hearts,  forget 
20  That  we  owe  mankind  a  debt? 

No !  true  freedom  is  to  share 
All  the  chains  our  brothers  wear, 
And,  with  heart  and  hand,  to  be 
Earnest  to  make  others  free ! 


25  They  are  slaves  who  fear  to  speak 

For  the  fallen  and  the  weak ; 
They  are  slaves  who  will  not  choose 
Hatred,  scoffing,  and  abuse, 
Rather  than  in  silence  shrink 

3Q  From  the  truth  they  needs  must  think ; 

They  are  slaves  who  dare  not  be 
In  the  right  with  two  or  three. 


(From  Ode  Recited  at  the  Harvard  Commemoration,  July  21,  1865) 

ii 

To-day  our  Reverend  Mother  welcomes  back 
Her  wisest  Scholars,  those  who  understood 

The  deeper  teaching  of  her  mystic  tome, 

And  offered  their  fresh  lives  to  make  it  good : 
No  lore  of  Greece  or  Rome, 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  241 

No  science  peddling  with  the  names  of  things, 
Or  reading  stars  to  find  inglorious  fates, 

Can  lift  our  life  with  wings 
Far  from  Death's  idle  gulf  that  for  the  many  waits, 

And  lengthen  out  our  dates  10 

With  that  clear  fame  whose  memory  sings 
In  manly  hearts  to  come,  and  nerves  them  and  dilates : 
Nor  such  thy  teaching,  Mother  of  us  all ! 
Not  such  the  trumpet-call 

Of  thy  diviner  mood,  15 

That  could  thy  sons  entice 
From  happy  homes  and  toils,  the  fruitful  nest 
Of  those  half-virtues  which  the  world  calls  best, 
Into  War's  tumult  rude ; 

But  rather  far  that  stern  device  20 

The  sponsors  chose  that  round  thy  cradle  stood 
In  the  dim,  un ventured  wood, 
The  VERITAS  that  lurks  beneath 
The  letter's  unprolific  sheath, 

Life  of  whate'er  makes  life  worth  living,  25 

Seed-grain  of  high  emprise,  immortal  food, 

One  heavenly  thing  whereof  earth  hath  the  giving. 

in 

Many  loved  Truth,  and  lavished  life's  best  oil 

Amid  the  dust  of  books  to  find  her, 

Content  at  last,  for  guerdon  of  their  toil,  30 

With  the  cast  mantle  she  hath  left  behind  her. 

Many  in  sad  faith  sought  for  her, 

Many  with  crossed  hands  sighed  for  her; 

But  these,  our  brothers,  fought  for  her, 

At  life's  dear  peril  wrought  for  her,  35 

So  loved  her  that  they  died  for  her, 

Tasting  the  raptured  fleetness 

Of  her  divine  completeness : 

Their  higher  instinct  knew 

Those  love  her  best  who  to  themselves  are  true,  40 

And  what  they  dare  to  dream  of,  dare  to  do ; 


242  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

They  followed  her  and  found  her 

Where  all  may  hope  to  find, 
Not  in  the  ashes  of  the  burnt-out  mind, 
45  But  beautiful,  with  danger's  sweetness  round  her. 

Where  faith  made  whole  with  deed 

Breathes  its  awakening  breath 

Into  the  lifeless  creed, 

They  saw  her  plumed  and  mailed, 
60  With  sweet,  stern  face  unveiled, 

And  all-repaying  eyes,  look  proud  on  them  in  deatht 


Whither  leads  the  path 
To  ampler  fates  that  leads  ? 
Not  down  through  flowery  meads, 
65  To  reap  an  aftermath 

Of  youth's  vainglorious  weeds, 
But  up  the  steep,  amid  the  wrath 
And  shock  of  deadly -hostile  creeds, 
Where  the  world's  best  hope  and  stay 
60  By  battle's  flashes  gropes  a  desperate  way, 

And  every  turf  the  fierce  foot  clings  to  bleeds. 
Peace  hath  her  not  ignoble  wreath, 
Ere  yet  the  sharp,  decisive  word 
Light  the  black  lips  of  cannon,  and  the  sword 
65  Dreams  in  its  easeful  sheath  ; 

But  some  day  the  live  coal  behind  the  thought, 
Whether  from  Baal's  stone  obscene, 
Or  from  the  shrine  serene 
Of  God's  pure  altar  brought, 
70  Bursts  up  in  flame ;  the  war  of  tongue  and  pen 

Learns  with  what  deadly  purpose  it  was  fraught, 
And,  helpless  in  the  fiery  passion  caught, 
Shakes  all  the  pillared  state  with  shock  of  men : 
Some  day  the  Soft  Ideal  that  we  wooed 
75  Confronts  us  fiercely,  foe-beset,  pursued, 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  243 

And  cries  reproachful  :  '  Was  it,  then,  my  praise, 
And  not  myself  was  loved  V     Prove  now  thy  truth  ; 
I  claim  of  thee  the  promise  of  thy  youth  ; 
Give  me  thy  life,  or  cower  in  empty  phrase, 

The  victim  of  thy  genius,  not  its  mate  !  '  80 

Life  may  be  given  in  many  ways, 
And  loyalty  to  Truth  be  sealed 
As  bravely  in  the  closet  as  the  field, 

So  bountiful  is  Fate  ; 

But  then  to  stand  beside  her,       j  .>•  .  85 

When  craven  churls  deride  her, 
To  front  a  lie  in  arms  and  not  to  yield, 

This  shows,  methinks,  God's  plan    ,  . 

And  measure  of  a  stalwart  man, 

Limbed  like  the  old  heroic  breeds,  90 

Who  stands  self-poised  on  manhood's  solid  earth, 

Not  forced  to  frame  excuses  for  his  birth, 
Fed  from  within  with  all  the  strength  he  needs. 


VI 

Such  was  he,  our  Martyr-Chief, 

Whom  late  the  Nation  he  had  led,  95 

With  ashes  on  her  head, 
Wept  with  the  passion  of  an  angry  grief  : 
Forgive  me,  if  from  present  things  I  turn 
To  speak  what  in  my  heart  will  beat  and  burn, 
And  hang  my  wreath  on  his  world-honored  urn.  100 

Nature,  they  say,  doth  dote, 

And  cannot  make  a  man 

Save  on  some  worn-out  plan, 

Repeating  us  by  rote  : 
For  him  her  Old-  World  moulds  aside  she  threw,  105 

And  choosing  sweet  clay  from  the  breast 

Of  the  unexhausted  West, 
With  stuff  untainted  shaped  a  hero  new, 
Wise,  steadfast  in  the  strength  of  God,  and  true. 


244  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

110  How  beautiful  to  see 

Once  more  a  shepherd  of  mankind  indeed, 
Who  loved  his  charge,  but  never  loved  to  lead ; 
One  whose  meek  flock  the  people  joyed  to  be, 

Not  lured  by  any  cheat  of  birth, 
115  But  by  his  clear-grained  human  worth, 

And  brave  old  wisdom  of  sincerity  ! 

They  knew  that  outward  grace  is  dust ; 
They  could  not  choose  but  trust 
In  that  sure-footed  mind's  unfaltering  skill, 
120  And  supple-tempered  will 

That  bent  like  perfect  steel  to  spring  again  and  thrust. 
His  was  no  lonely  mountain-peak  of  mind, 
Thrusting  to  thin  air  o'er  our  cloudy  bars, 
A  sea-mark  now,  now  lost  in  vapors  blind ; 
125  Broad  prairie  rather,  genial,  level-lined, 

Fruitful  and  friendly  for  all  human  kind, 
Yet  also  nigh  to  heaven  and  loved  of  loftiest  stars. 

Nothing  of  Europe  here, 
Or,  then,  of  Europe  fronting  mornward  still, 
130  Ere  any  names  of  Serf!  and  Peer 

Could  Nature's  equal  scheme  deface 
And  thwart  her  genial  will ; 
Here  was  a  type  of  the  true  elder  race, 
And  one  of  Plutarch's  men  talked  with  us  face  to  face0 
135  I  praise  him  not ;  it  were  too  late ; 

And  some  innative  weakness  there  must  be 

In  him  who  condescends  to  victory 

Such  as  the  Present  gives,  and  cannot  wait, 

Safe  in  himself  as  in  a  fate. 
140  So  always  firmly  he  : 

He  knew  to  bide  his  time, 
And  can  his  fame  abide, 
Still  patient  in  his  simple  faith  sublime, 

Till  the  wise  years  decide. 

145  Great  captains,  with  their  guns  and  drums, 

Disturb  our  judgment  for  the  hour, 
But  at  last  silence  comes ; 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  245 

These  are  all  gone,  and,  standing  like  a  tower, 
Our  children  shall  behold  his  fame. 

The  kindly-earnest,  brave,  foreseeing  man,  160 

Sagacious,  patient,  dreading  praise,  not  blame, 
New  birth  of  our  new  soil,  the  first  American. 


VIII 

We  sit  here  in  the  Promised  Land 
That  flows  with  Freedom's  honey  and  milk ; 
But  'twas  they  won  it,  sword  in  hand,  165 

Making  the  nettle  danger  soft  for  us  as  silk. 
We  welcome  back  our  bravest  and  our  best ;  — 
Ah  me !  not  all !  some  come  not  with  the  rest, 
Who  went  forth  brave  and  bright  as  any  here  ! 
I  strive  to  mix  some  gladness  with  my  strain,  160 

But  the  sad  strings  complain, 
And  will  not  please  the  ear : 
I  sweep  them  for  a  paean,  but  they  wane 

Again  and  yet  again 

Into  a  dirge,  and  die  away,  in  pain.  165 

In  these  brave  ranks  I  only  see  the  gaps, 
Thinking  of  dear  ones  whom  the  dumb  turf  wraps, 
Dark  to  the  triumph  which  they  died  to  gain : 
Fitlier  may  others  greet  the  living, 

For  me  the  past  is  unforgiving;  170 

I  with  uncovered  head 
Salute  the  sacred  dead. 

Who  went,  and  who  return  not.  —  Say  not  so ! 
'Tis  not  the  grapes  of  Canaan  that  repay, 

But  the  high  faith  that  failed  not  by  the  way;  17r 

Virtue  treads  paths  that  end  not  in  the  grave; 
No  ban  of  endless  night  exiles  the  brave ; 

And  to  the  saner  mind 
We  rather  seem  the  dead  that  stayed  behind. 


246  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

180  Blow,  trumpets,  all  your  exultations  blow  ! 

For  never  shall  their  aureoled  presence  lack : 
I  see  them  muster  in  a  gleaming  row, 
With  ever-youthful  brows  that  nobler  show; 
We  find  in  our  dull  road  their  shining  track ; 

185  In  every  nobler  mood 

We  feel  the  orient  of  their  spirit  glow, 
Part  of  our  life's  unalterable  good, 
Of  all  our  saintlier  aspiration  ; 

They  come  transfigured  back, 

190  Secure  from  change  in  their  high-hearted  ways, 

Beautiful  evermore,  and  with  the  rays 
Of  morn  on  their  white  Shields  of  Expectation ! 


XI 

Not  in  anger,  not  in  pride, 

Pure  from  passion's  mixture  rude 
195  Ever  to  base  earth  allied, 

But  with  far-heard  gratitude, 

Still  with  heart  and  voice  renewed, 
To  heroes  living  and  dear  martyrs  dead, 
The  strain  should  close  that  consecrates  our  brave, 
200       ,        Lift  the  heart  and  lift  the  head ! 

Lofty  be  its  mood  and  grave, 

Not  without  a  martial  ring, 

Not  without  a  prouder  tread 

And  a  peal  of  exultation  : 
205  Little  right  has  he  to  sing 

Through  whose  heart  in  such  an  hour 

Beats  no  march  of  conscious  power, 

Sweeps  no  tumult  of  elation  ! 

'Tis  no  Man  we  celebrate, 
210  By  his  country's  victories  great, 

A  hero  half,  and  half  the  whim  of  Fate, 

But  the  pith  and  marrow  of  a  Nation 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  247 

Drawing  force  from  all  her  men, 

Highest,  humblest,  weakest,  all, 

For  her  time  of  need,  and  then  215 

Pulsing  it  again  through  them, 
Till  the  basest  can  no  longer  cower, 
Feeling  his  soul  spring  up  divinely  tall, 
Touched  but  in  passing  by  her  mantle-hem. 
Come  back,  then,  noble  pride,  for  'tis  her  dower !  220 

How  could  poet  ever  tower, 

If  his  passions,  hopes,  and  fears, 

If  his  triumphs  and  his  tears, 

Kept  not  measure  with  his  people  ? 

Boom,  cannon,  boom  to  all  the  winds  and  waves  !  225 

Clash  out,  glad  bells,  from  every  rocking  steeple ! 
Banners,  adance  with  triumph,  bend  your  staves ! 

And  from  every  mountain-peak 

Let  beacon-fire  to  answering  beacon  speak, 

Katahdin  tell  Monadnock,  Whiteface  he,  230 

And  so  leap  on  in  light  from  sea  to  sea, 
Till  the  glad  news  be  sent 
Across  a  kindling  continent, 

Making  earth  feel  more  firm  and  air  breathe  braver : 
*  Be  proud  !  for  she  is  saved,  and  all  have  helped  to  save  her !  235 

She  that  lifts  up  the  manhood  of  the  poor, 

She  of  the  open  soul  and  open  door, 

With  room  about  her  hearth  for  all  mankind ! 

The  fire  is  dreadful  in  her  eyes  no  more; 

From  her  bold  front  the  helm  she  doth  unbind,  240 

Sends  all  her  handmaid  armies  back  to  spin, 

Arid  bids  her  navies,  that  so  lately  hurled 

Their  crashing  battle,  hold  their  thunders  in, 

Swimming  like  birds  of  calm  along  the  unharmful  shore. 

No  challenge  sends  she  to  the  elder  world,  245 

That  looked  askance  and  hated ;  a  light  scorn 

Plays  o'er  her  mouth,  as  round  her  mighty  knees 

She  calls  her  children  back,  and  waits  the  morn 
Of  nobler  day,  enthroned  between  her  subject  seas.' 


248  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 


XII 

260  Bow  down,  dear  Land,  for  thou  hast  found  release ! 

Thy  God,  in  these  distempered  days, 
Hath  taught  thee  the  sure  wisdom  of  His  ways, 
And  through  thine  enemies  hath  wrought  thy  peace ! 

Bow  down  in  prayer  and  praise  ! 
265  No  poorest  in  thy  borders  but  may  now 

Lift  to  the  juster  skies  a  man's  enfranchised  brow, 
O  Beautiful !  my  country !  ours  once  more  ! 
Smoothing  thy  gold  of  war-dishevelled  hair 
O'er  such  sweet  brows  as  never  other  wore, 
260  And  letting  thy  set  lips, 

Freed  from  wrath's  pale  eclipse, 
The  rosy  edges  of  their  smile  lay  bare, 
What  words  divine  of  lover  or  of  poet 
Could  tell  our  love  and  make  thee  know  it, 
265  Among  the  Nations  bright  beyond  compare? 

What  were  our  lives  without  thee  ? 
What  all  our  lives  to  save  thee? 
We  reck  not  what  we  gave  thee ; 
We  will  not  dare  to  doubt  thee, 
270  But  ask  whatever  else,  and  we  will  dare ! 


(From  Under  the  Old  Elm) 

(Poem  read  at  Cambridge  on  the  Hundredth  Anniversary  of  Wash 
ington's  taking  Command  of  the  American  Army,  3d  July,  1775. ) 

in 

1 

Beneath  our  consecrated  elm 
A  century  ago  he  stood, 

Famed  vaguely  for  that  old  fight  in  the  wood 
Whose  red  surge  sought,  but  could  not  overwhelm 
The  life  foredoomed  to  wield  our  rough-hewn  helm :  — 
From  colleges,  where  now  the  gown 
To  arms  had  yielded,  from  the  town, 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  249 

Our  rude  self-summoned  levies  flocked  to  see 

The  new-come  chiefs  and  wonder  which  was  he. 

No  need  to  question  long ;  close-lipped  and  tall,  10 

Long  trained  in  murder-brooding  forests  lone 

To  bridle  others'  clamors  and  his  own, 

Firmly  erect,  he  towered  above  them  all, 

The  incarnate  discipline  that  was  to  free 

With  iron  curb  that  armed  democracy.  15 


A  motley  rout  was  that  which  came  to  stare, 

In  raiment  tanned  by  years  of  sun  and  storm, 

Of  every  shape  that  was  not  uniform, 

Dotted  with  regimentals  here  and  there ; 

An  army  all  of  captains,  used  to  pray  20 

And  stiff  in  fight,  but  serious  drill's  despair, 

Skilled  to  debate  their  orders,  not  obey ; 

Deacons  were  there,  selectmen,  men  of  note 

In  half-tamed  hamlets  ambushed  round  with  woods, 

Ready  to  settle  Freewill  by  a  vote,  25 

But  largely  liberal  to  its  private  moods ; 

Prompt  to  assert  by  manners,  voice,  or  pen, 

Or  ruder  arms,  their  rights  as  Englishmen, 

Nor  much  fastidious  as  to  how  and  when : 

Yet  seasoned  stuff  and  fittest  to  create  30 

A  thought-staid  army  or  a  lasting  state: 

Haughty  they  said  he  was,  at  first ;  severe ; 

But  owned,  as  all  men  own,  the  steady  hand 

Upon  the  bridle,  patient  to  command, 

Prized,  as  all  prize,  the  justice  pure  from  fear,  35 

And  learned  to  honor  first,  then  love  him,  then  revere. 

Such  power  there  is  in  clear-eyed  self-restraint 

And  purpose  clean  as  light  from  every  selfish  taint. 

3 

Musing  beneath  the  legendary  tree, 

The  years  between  furl  off :  I  seem  to  see  40 


250  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

The  sun-flecks,  shaken  the  stirred  foliage  through, 

Dapple  with  gold  his  sober  buff  and  blue 

And  weave  prophetic  aureoles  round  the  head 

That  shines  our  beacon  now  nor  darkens  with  the  deado 

45  O  man  of  silent  mood, 

A  stranger  among  strangers  then, 
How  art  thou  since  renowned  the  Great,  the  Good, 
Familiar  as  the  day  in  all  the  homes  of  men ! 
The  winged  years,  that  winnow  praise  to  blame, 

60  Blow  many  names  out :  they  but  fan  and  flame 

The  self -renewing  splendors  of  thy  fame. 


Soldier  and  statesman,  rarest  unison ; 

High-poised  example  of  great  duties  done 

Simply  as  breathing,  a  world's  honors  worn 
55  As  life's  indifferent  gifts  to  all  men  born ; 

Dumb  for  himself,  unless  it  were  to  God, 

But  for  his  barefoot  soldiers  eloquent, 

Tramping  the  snow  to  coral  where  they  trod, 

Held  by  his  awe  in  hollow-eyed  content ; 
60  Modest,  yet  firm  as  Nature's  self ;  unblamed 

Save  by  the  men  his  nobler  temper  shamed ; 

Never  seduced  through  show  of  present  good 

By  other  than  unsetting  lights  to  steer 

New-trimmed  in  Heaven,  nor  than  his  steadfast  mood 
65  More  steadfast,  far  from  rashness  as  from  fear ; 

Rigid,  but  with  himself  first,  grasping  still 

In  swerveless  poise  the  wave-beat  helm  of  will ; 

Not  honored  then  or  now  because  he  wooed 

The  popular  voice,  but  that  he  still  withstood ; 
70  Broad-minded,  higher-souled,  there  is  but  one, 

Who  was  all  this  and  ours,  and  all  men's,  —  WASHINGTON, 


JAMES   RUSSELL   LOWELL  251 


VIII 

Virginia  gave  us  this  imperial  man 

Cast  in  the  massive  mould 

Of  those  high-statured  ages  old 

Which  into  grander  forms  our  mortal  metal  ran  ;  75 

She  gave  us  this  unblemished  gentleman  : 

What  shall  we  give  her  back  but  love  and  praise 

As  in  the  dear  old  unestranged  days 

Before  the  inevitable  wrong  began? 

Mother  of  States  arid  undiminished  men,  80 

Thou  gavest  us  a  country,  giving  him, 

And  we  owe  always  what  we  owed  thee  then : 

The  boon  thou  wouldst  have  snatched  from  us  agen 

Shines  as  before  with  no  abatement  dim. 

A  great  man's  memory  is  the  only  thing  85 

With  influence  to  outlast  the  present  whim 

And  bind  us  as  when  here  he  knit  our  golden  ring. 

All  of  him  that  was  subject  to  the  hours 

Lies  in  thy  soil  and  makes  it  part  of  ours : 

Across  more  recent  graves,  90 

Where  unresentf  ul  Nature  waves 

Her  pennons  o'er  the  shot-ploughed  sod, 

Proclaiming  the  sweet  Truce  of  God, 

We  from  this  consecrated  plain  stretch  out 

Our  hands  as  free  from  afterthought  or  doubt  95 

As  here  the  united  North 

Poured  her  embrowned  manhood  forth 

In  welcome  of  our  savior  and  thy  son. 

Through  battle  we  have  better  learned  thy  worth, 

The  long-breathed  valor  and  undaunted  will,  100 

Which,  like  his  own,  the  day's  disaster  done, 

Could,  safe  in  manhood,  suffer  and  be  still. 

Both  thine  and  ours  the  victory  hardly  won ; 

If  ever  with  distempered  voice  or  pen 

We  have  misdeemed  thee,  here  we  take  it  back,  105 

And  for  the  dead  of  both  don  common  black. 


252  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Be  to  us  evermore  as  thou  wast  then, 
As  we  forget  thou  hast  not  always  been, 
Mother  of  States  and  unpolluted  men, 
110  Virginia,  fitly  named  from  England's  manly  queen ! 

Emerson  and  His  Audience 
(From  Emerson  the  Lecturer) 

It  is  a  singular  fact,  that  Mr.  Emerson  is  the  most 
steadily  attractive  lecturer  in  America.  Into  that  some 
what  cold-waterish  region  adventurers  of  the  sensational 
kind  come  down  now  and  then  with  a  splash,  to  become 

5  disregarded  King  Logs  before  the  next  season.  But  Mr. 
Emerson  always  draws.  A  lecturer  now  for  something  like 
a  third  of  a  century,  one  of  the  pioneers  of  the  lecturing 
system,  the  charm  of  his  voice,  his  manner,  and  his  matter 
has  never  lost  its  power  over  his  earlier  hearers,  and  con- 

lOtinually  winds  new  ones  in  its  enchanting  meshes.  What 
they  do  not  fully  understand  they  take  on  trust  and  listen, 
saying  to  themselves,  as  the  old  poet  of  Sir  Philip 

Sidney,  — 

"  A  sweet,  attractive  kind  of  grace, 
15  A  full  assurance  given  by  looks, 

Continual  comfort  in  a  face, 

The  lineaments  of  gospel  books." 

We  call  it  a  singular  fact,  because  we  Yankees  are 
thought  to  be  fond  of  the  spread-eagle  style,  and  nothing 

20  can  be  more  remote  from  that  than  his.  We  are  reckoned 
a  practical  folk,  who  would  rather  hear  about  a  new  air 
tight  stove  than  about  Plato;  yet  our  favorite  teacher's 
practicality  is  not  in  the  least  of  the  Poor  Richard  variety. 
If  he  have  any  Buncombe  constituency,  it  is  that  unrealized 

25  commonwealth  of  philosophers  which  Plotinus  proposed  to 
establish;  and  if  he  were  to  make  an  almanac,  his  directions 


JAMES   RUSSELL  LOWELL  253 

to  farmers  would  be  something  like  this  :  "  OCTOBER  :  Indian 
Summer;  now  is  the  time  to  get  in  your  early  Vedas." 
What,  then,  is  his  secret  ?  Is  it  not  that  he  out- Yankees 
us  all  ?  that  his  range  includes  us  all  ?  ',hat  he  is  equally  30 
at  home  with  the  potato-disease  and  original  sin,  with 
pegging  shoes  and  the  Over-soul  ?  that,  as  we  try  all  trades, 
so  has  he  tried  all  cultures  ?  and  above  all,  that  his 
mysticism  gives  us  a  counterpoise  to  our  super-practicality  ? 

There  is  no  man  living  to  whom,  as  a  writer,  so  many  of  35 
us  feel  and  thankfully  acknowledge  so  great  an  indebtedness 
for  ennobling  impulses,  —  none  whom  so  many  cannot  abide. 
What  does  he  mean  ?  ask  these  last.     Where  is  his  system  ? 
What  is  the  use  of  it  all?     What  have  we  to   do   with 
Brahma  ?     I  do  not  propose  to  write  an  essay  on  Emerson  40 
at  this  time.     I  will  only  say  that  one  may  find  grandeur 
and  consolation  in  a  starlit  night  without  caring  to  ask 
what  it  means  save  grandeur  and  consolation ;  one  may  like 
Montaigne,  as  some  ten  generations  before  us  have  done, 
without  thinking  him  so  systematic  as  some  more  eminently  45 
tedious  (or  shall  we  say  tediously  eminent  ?)  authors ;  one 
may  think  roses  as  good  in  their  way  as  cabbages,  though 
the  latter  would  make  a  better  show  in  the  witness-box  if 
cross-examined  as  to  their  usefulness ;  and  as  for  Brahma, 
why,  he  can  take  care  of  himself,  and  won't  bite  us  at  any  so 
rate. 

The  bother  with  Mr.  Emerson  is,  that,  though  he  writes 
in  prose,  he  is  essentially  a  poet.  If  you  undertake  to  para 
phrase  what  he  says,  and  to  reduce  it  to  words  of  one 
syllable  for  infant  minds,  you  will  make  as  sad  work  of  it  55 
as  the  good  monk  with  his  analysis  of  Homer  in  the 
Epistolce  Obscurorum  Virorum.  We  look  upon  him  as  one 
of  the  few  men  of  genius  whom  our  age  has  produced,  and 
there  needs  no  better  proof  of  it  than  his  masculine  faculty 
of  fecundating  other  minds.  Search  for  his  eloquence  in  60 


254  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

his  books  and  you  will  perchance  miss  it,  but  meanwhile 
you  will  find  that  it  has  kindled  all  your  thoughts.  For 
choice  and  pith  of  language  he  belongs  to  a  better  age  than 
ours,  and  might  n  b  shoulders  with  Fuller  and  Browne,  — 

65  though  he  does  use  that  abominable  word  reliable.  His  eye 
for  a  fine,  telling  phrase  that  will  carry  true  is  like  that  of  a 
backwoodsman  for  a  rifle ;  and  he  will  dredge  you  up  a 
choice  word  from  the  mud  of  Cotton  Mather  himself.  A 
diction  at  once  so  rich  and  so  homely  as  his  I  know  not 

70  where  to  match  in  these  days  of  writing  by  the  page ;  it  is 
like  homespun  cloth-of-gold.  The  many  cannot  miss  his 
meaning,  and  only  the  few  can  find  it.  It  is  the  open  secret 
of  all  true  genius.  It  is  wholesome  to  angle  in  those  pro 
found  pools,  though  one  be  rewarded  with  nothing  more 

75  than  the  leap  of  a  fish  that  flashes  his  freckled  side  in  the 
sun,  and  as  suddenly  absconds  in  the  dark  and  dreamy 
waters  again.  There  is  keen  excitement,  though  there  be 
no  ponderable  acquisition.  If  we  carry  nothing  home  in 
our  baskets,  there  is  ample  gain  in  dilated  lungs  and  stimu- 

solated  blood.  What  does  he  mean,  quotha?  He  means 
inspiring  hints,  a  divining-rod  to  your  deeper  nature.  No 
doubt  Emerson,  like  all  original  men,  has  his  peculiar 
audience,  and  yet  I  know  none  that  can  hold  a  promiscuous 
crowd  in  pleased  attention  so  long  as  he.  As  in  all  original 

85 men,  there  is  something  for  every  palate.  "Would  you 
know,"  says  Goethe,  "  the  ripest  cherries  ?  Ask  the  boys 
and  the  blackbirds." 

The  announcement  that  such  a  pleasure  as  a  new  course 
of  lectures  by  him  is  coming,  to  people  as  old  as  I  am,  is 

90  something  like  those  forebodings  of  spring  that  prepare  us 
every  year  for  a  familiar  novelty,  none  the  less  novel,  when 
it  arrives,  because  it  is  familiar.  We  know  perfectly  well 
what  we  are  to  expect  from  Mr.  Emerson,  and  yet  what  he 
says  always  penetrates  and  stirs  us,  as  is  apt  to  be  the  case 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  255 

with   genius,   in    a    very    unlooked-for    fashion.     Perhaps  95 
genius  is  one  of  the  few  things  which  we  gladly  allow  to 
repeat  itself,  —  one  of  the  few  that  multiply  rather  than 
weaken  the  force  of  their  impression  by  iteration.     Perhaps 
some  of  us  hear  more  than  the  mere  words,  are  moved  by 
something  deeper  than  the  thoughts.     If  it  be  so,  we  are  100 
quite  right,  for  it  is  thirty  years  and  more  of  "  plain  living 
and  high   thinking"    that  speak   to  us  in  this  altogether 
unique  lay-preacher.     We  have  shared  in  the  beneficence  of 
this  varied  culture,  this  fearless  impartiality  in  criticism 
and  speculation,  this  masculine  sincerity,  this  sweetness  of  105 
nature  which  rather  stimulates  than  cloys,  for  a  generation 
long.     If   ever  there   was   a   standing  testimonial    to  the 
cumulative  power  and  value  of  Character  (and  we  need  it 
sadly   in  these   days),   we   have   it   in   this    gracious   and 
dignified  presence.     What  an  antiseptic  is  a  pure  life!     At  no 
sixty-five  (or  two  years  beyond  his  grand  climacteric,  as  he 
would  prefer  to  call  it)  he  has  that  privilege  of  soul  which 
abolishes  the  calendar,  and  presents  him  to  us  always  the 
unwasted  contemporary  of  his  own  prime.     I  do  not  know 
if  he  seem  old  to  his  younger  hearers,  but  we  who  have  115 
known  him  so  long  wonder  at  the  tenacity  with  which  he 
maintains  himself  even  in  the  outposts  of  youth.     I  suppose 
it  is  not  the  Emerson  of  1868  to  whom  we  listen.     For  us 
the  whole  life  of  the  man  is  distilled  in  the  clear  drop  of 
every  sentence,  and  behind  each  word  we  divine  the  force  120 
of  a  noble  character,  the  weight  of  a  large  capital  of  think 
ing  and  being.     We  do  not  go  to  hear  what  Emerson  says 
so  much  as  to  hear  Emerson.     Not  that  we  perceive  any 
falling  off  in  anything  that  ever  was  essential  to  the  charm 
of  Mr.  Emerson's  peculiar  style  of  thought  or  phrase.     The  125 
first  lecture,  to  be  sure,  was  more  disjointed  even  than  com 
mon.     It  was  as  if,  after  vainly  trying  to  get  his  paragraphs 
into  sequence  and  order,  he  had  at  last  tried  the  desperate 


256  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

expedient  of  shuffling  them.     It  was  chaos  come  again,  but 

130  it  was  a  chaos  fall  of  shooting-stars,  a  jumble  of  creative 
forces.  The  second  lecture,  on  Criticism  and  Poetry,  was 
quite  up  to  the  level  of  old  times,  full  of  that  power  of 
strangely  subtle  association  whose  indirect  approaches 
startle  the  mind  into  almost  painful  attention,  of  those 

135  flashes  of  mutual  understanding  between  speaker  and  hearer 
that  are  gone  ere  one  can  say  it  lightens.  The  vice  of 
Emerson's  criticism  seems  to  be,  that  while  no  man  is  so 
sensitive  to  what  is  poetical,  few  men  are  less  sensible  than 
he  of  what  makes  a  poem.  He  values  the  solid  meaning  of 

140  thought  above  the  subtler  meaning  of  style.  He  would 
prefer  Donne,  I  suspect,  to  Spenser,  and  sometimes  mis 
takes  the  queer  for  the  original. 

To  be  young  is  surely  the  best,  if  the  most  precarious, 
gift  of  life ;  yet  there  are  some  of  us  who  would  hardly  con- 

145  sent  to  be  young  again,  if  it  were  at  the  cost  of  our  recollec 
tion  of  Mr.  Emerson's  first  lectures  during  the  consulate  of  Van 
Buren.  We  used  to  walk  in  from  the  country  to  the  Masonic 
Temple  (I  think  it  was),  through  the  crisp  winter  night, 
and  listen  to  that  thrilling  voice  of  his,  so  charged  with 

150  subtle  meaning  and  subtle  music,  as  shipwrecked  men  on  a 
raft  to  the  hail  of  a  ship  that  came  with  unhoped-for  food 
and  rescue.  Cynics  might  say  what  they  liked.  Did  our 
own  imaginations  transfigure  dry  remainder-biscuit  into 
ambrosia  ?  At  any  rate,  he  brought  us  life,  which,  on  the 

155  whole,  is  no  bad  thing.  Was  it  all  transcendentalism  ? 
magic-lantern  pictures  on  mist?  As  you  will.  Those, 
then,  were  just  what  we  wanted.  But  it  was  not  so.  The 
delight  and  the  benefit  were  that  he  put  us  in  communica 
tion  with  a  larger  style  of  thought,  sharpened  our  wits  with 

160  a  more  pungent  phrase,  gave  us  ravishing  glimpses  of  an 
ideal  under  the  dry  husk  of  our  New  England;  made  us 
conscious  of  the  supreme  and  everlasting  originality  of 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  257 

whatever  bit  of  soul  might  be  in  any  of  us ;  freed  us,  in 
short,  from  the  stocks  of  prose  in  which  we  had  sat  so  long 
that  we  had  grown  wellnigh  contented  in  our  cramps.  And  165 
who  that  saw  the  audience  will  ever  forget  it,  where  every 
one  still  capable  of  fire,  or  longing  to  renew  in  them  the 
half-forgotten  sense  of  it,  was  gathered  ?  Those  faces, 
young  and  old,  agleam  with  pale  intellectual  light,  eager 
with  pleased  attention,  flash  upon  me  once  more  from  the  170 
deep  recesses  of  the  years  with  an  exquisite  pathos.  Ah, 
beautiful  young  eyes,  brimming  with  love  and  hope,  wholly 
vanished  now  in  that  other  world  we  call  the  Past,  or  peer 
ing  doubtfully  through  the  pensive  gloaming  of  memory, 
your  light  impoverishes  these  cheaper  days  !  I  hear  again  175 
that  rustle  of  sensation,  as  they  turned  to  exchange  glances 
over  some  pithier  thought,  some  keener  flash  of  that  humor 
which  always  played  about  the  horizon  of  his  mind  like 
heat-lightning,  and  it  seems  now  like  the  sad  whisper  of  the 
autumn  leaves  that  are  whirling  around  me.  But  would  180 
my  picture  be  complete  if'  I  forgot  that  ample  and  vegete 
countenance  of  Mr.  R of  W ,  —  how,  from  its  reg 
ular  post  at  the  corner  of  the  front  bench,  it  turned  in  ruddy 
triumph  to  the  prof  an  er  audience  as  if  he  were  the  inex 
plicably  appointed  fugleman  of  appreciation?  I  was  re- 185 
minded  of  him  by  those  hearty  cherubs  in  Titian's  Assump 
tion  that  look  at  you  as  who  should  say,  "  Did  you  ever  see 
a  Madonna  like  that  ?  Did  you  ever  behold  one  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  of  womanhood  mount  heavenward  before 
like  a  rocket  ?  "  190 

To  some  of  us  that  long  past  experience  remains  as  the 
most  marvellous  and  fruitful  we  have  ever  had.  Emerson 
awakened  us,  saved  us  from  the  body  of  this  death.  It  is 
the  sound  of  the  trumpet  that  the  young  soul  longs  for, 
careless  what  breath  may  fill  it.  Sidney  heard  it  in  the  195 
ballad  of  Chevy  Chase,  and  we  in  Emerson.  Nor  did  it  blow 


258    .  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

retreat,  but  called  to  us  with  assurance  of  victory.  Did 
they  say  he  was  disconnected?  So  were  the  stars,  that 
seemed  larger  to  our  eyes,  still  keen  with  that  excitement, 

200  as  we  walked  homeward  with  prouder  stride  over  the  creak 
ing  snow.  And  were  they  not  knit  together  by  a  higher  logic 
than  our  mere  sense  could  master  ?  Were  we  enthusiasts  ? 
I  hope  and  believe  we  were,  and  am  thankful  to  the  man 
who  made  us  worth  something  for  once  in  our  lives.  If 

205  asked  what  was  left  ?  what  we  carried  home  ?  we  should 
not  have  been  careful  for  an  answer.  It  would  have  been 
enough  if  we  had  said  that  something  beautiful  had  passed 
that  way.  Or  we  might  have  asked  in  return  what  one 
brought  away  from  a  symphony  of  Beethoven  ?  Enough 

210  that  he  had  set  that  ferment  of  wholesome  discontent  at 
work  in  us.  There  is  one,  at  least,  of  those  old  hearers,  so 
many  of  whom  are  now  in  the  fruition  of  that  intellectual 
beauty  of  which  Emerson  gave  them  both  the  desire  and  the 
foretaste,  who  will  always  love  to  repeat : 

215  Che  in  la  mente  m'e  fitta,  ed  or  m'  accuora 

La  cara  e  buona  immagine  paterna 
Di  voi,  quando  nel  mondo  ad  ora  ad  ora 
M'  insegnavaste  come  F  uom  s'  eterna." 

White's  "  Selborne  " 
(From  My  Garden  Acquaintance) 

One  of  the  most  delightful  books  in  my  father's  library 
was  White's  "  Natural  History  of  Selborne."  For  me  it 
has  rather  gained  in  charm  with  years.  I  used  to  read  it 
without  knowing  the  secret  of  the  pleasure  I  found  in  it, 
5  but  as  I  grow  older  I  begin  to  detect  some  of  the  simple  ex 
pedients  of  this  natural  magic.  Open  the  book  where  you 
will,  it  takes  you  out  of  doors.  In  our  broiling  July 
weather  one  can  walk  out  with  this  genially  garrulous  Fel- 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  259 

low  of  Oriel  and  find  refreshment  instead  of  fatigue.  You 
have  no  trouble  in  keeping  abreast  of  him  as  he  ambles  10 
along  on  his  hobby-horse,  now  pointing  to  a  pretty  view, 
now  stopping  to  watch  the  motions  of  a  bird  or  an  insect, 
or  to  bag  a  specimen  for  the  Honourable  Daines  Barrington 
or  Mr.  Pennant.  In  simplicity  of  taste  and  natural  refine 
ment  he  reminds  one  of  Walton ;  in  tenderness  toward  what  15 
he  would  have  called  the  brute  creation,  of  Cowper.  I  do  not 
know  whether  his  descriptions  of  scenery  are  good  or  not, 
but  they  have  made  me  familiar  with  his  neighborhood. 
Since  I  first  read  him,  I  have  walked  over  some  of  his 
favorite  haunts,  but  I  still  see  them  through  his  eyes  rather  20 
than  by  any  recollection  of  actual  and  personal  vision.  The 
book  has  also  the  delightfulness  of  absolute  leisure.  Mr. 
White  seems  never  to  have  had  any  harder  work  to  do  than 
to  study  the  habits  of  his  feathered  fellow-townsfolk,  or  to 
watch  the  ripening  of  his  peaches  on  the  wall.  No  doubt  25 
he  looked  after  the  souls  of  his  parishioners  with  official 
and  even  friendly  interest,  but,  I  cannot  help  suspecting, 
with  a  less  personal  solicitude.  For  he  seems  to  have  lived 
before  the  Fall.  His  volumes  are  the  journal  of  Adam  in 
Paradise,  30 

"  Annihilating  all  that's  made 
To  a  green  thought  in  a  green  shade." 

It  is  positive  rest  only  to  look  into  that  garden  of  his.     It 
is  vastly  better  than  to 

"  See  great  Diocletian  walk  35 

In  the  Salonian  garden's  noble  shade," 

for  thither  ambassadors  intrude  to  bring  with  them  the 
noises  of  Rome,  while  here  the  world  has  no  entrance.     No 
rumor  of  the  revolt  of  the  American  Colonies  appears  to 
have  reached  him.     "The  natural  term  of  an  hog's  life "40 
has  more  interest  for  him  than  that  of  an  empire.     Bur- 


260  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

goyne  may  surrender  and  welcome ;  of  what  consequence  is 
that  compared  with  the  fact  that  we  can  explain  the  odd 
tumbling  of  rooks  in  the  air  by  their  turning  over  "to 

45  scratch  themselves  with  one  claw  "  ?  All  the  couriers  in 
Europe  spurring  rowel-deep  make  no  stir  in  Mr.  White's 
little  Chartreuse ;  but  the  arrival  of  the  house-martin  a  day 
earlier  or  later  than  last  year  is  a  piece  of  news  worth  send 
ing  express  to  all  his  correspondents. 

50  Another  secret  charm  of  this  book  is  its  inadvertent  hu 
mor,  so  much  the  more  delicious  because  unsuspected  by  the 
author.  How  pleasant  is  his  innocent  vanity  in  adding  to 
the  list  of  the  British,  and  still  more  of  the  Selbornian, 
fauna!  I  believe  he  would  gladly  have  consented  to  be 

55  eaten  by  a  tiger  or  a  crocodile,  if  by  that  means  the  oc 
casional  presence  within  the  parish  limits  of  either  of  these 
anthropophagous  brutes  could  have  been  established.  He 
brags  of  no  fine  society,  but  is  plainly  a  little  elated  by 
"  having  considerable  acquaintance  with  a  tame  brown  owl." 

60  Most  of  us  have  known  our  share  of  owls,  but  few  can  boast 
of  intimacy  with  a  feathered  one.  The  great  events  of  Mr. 
White's  life,  too,  have  that  disproportionate  importance 
which  is  always  humorous.  To  think  of  his  hands  having 
actually  been  thought  worthy  (as  neither  Willoughby's  nor 

65  Ray's  were)  to  hold  a  stilted  plover,  the  Charadrius  himan- 
topusj  with  no  back  toe,  and  therefore  "  liable,  in  specula 
tion,  to  perpetual  vacillations  "  !  I  wonder,  by  the  way,  if 
metaphysicians  have  no  hind  toes.  In  1770  he  makes  the 
acquaintance  in  Sussex  of  "  an  old  family  tortoise,"  which 

70  had  then  been  domesticated  for  thirty  years.  It  is  clear 
that  he  fell  in  love  with  it  at  first  sight.  We  have  no 
means  of  tracing  the  growth  of  his  passion ;  but  in  1780  we 
find  him  eloping  with  its  object  in  a  post-chaise.  "The 
rattle  and  hurry  of  the  journey  so  perfectly  roused  it  that, 

75  when  I  turned  it  out  in  a  border,  it  walked  twice  down  to 


JAMES   RUSSELL   LOWELL  261 

the  bottom  of  my  garden."  It  reads  like  a  Court  Journal : 
"  Yesterday  morning  H.R.H.  the  Princess  Alice  took  an 
airing  of  half  an  hour  on  the  terrace  of  Windsor  Castle." 
This  tortoise  might  have  been  a  member  of  the  Royal  So 
ciety,  if  he  could  have  condescended  to  so  ignoble  an  am-  80 
bition.  It  had  but  just  been  discovered  that  a  surface 
inclined  at  a  certain  angle  with  the  plane  of  the  horizon 
took  more  of  the  sun's  rays.  The  tortoise  had  always 
known  this  (though  he  unostentatiously  made  no  parade  of 
it),  and  used  accordingly  to  tilt  himself  up  against  the  gar-  85 
den-wall  in  the  autumn.  He  seems  to  have  been  more  of  a 
philosopher  than  even  Mr.  White  himself,  caring  for  nothing 
but  to  get  under  a  cabbage-leaf  when  it  rained,  or  when  the 
sun  was  too  hot,  and  to  bury  himself  alive  before  frost,  —  a 
four-footed  Diogenes,  who  carried  his  tub  on  his  back.  90 

There  are  moods  in  which  this  kind  of  history  is  infinitely 
refreshing.  These  creatures  whom  we  affect  to  look  down 
upon  as  the  drudges  of  instinct  are  members  of  a  common 
wealth  whose  constitution  rests  on  immovable  bases.  Never 
any  need  of  reconstruction  there !  They  never  dream  of  95 
settling  it  by  vote  that  eight  hours  are  equal  to  ten,  or  that 
one  creature  is  as  clever  as  another  and  no  more.  They  do 
not  use  their  poor  wits  in  regulating  God's  clocks,  nor  think 
they  cannot  go  astray  so  long  as  they  carry  their  guide- 
board  about  with  them, — a  delusion  we  often  practice  upon  100 
ourselves  with  our  high  and  mighty  reason,  that  admirable 
finger-post  which  points  every  way,  as  we  choose  to  turn  it, 
and  always  right.  It  is  good  for  us  now  and  then  to  con 
verse  with  a  world  like  Mr.  White's,  where  Man  is  the  least 
important  of  animals.  But  one  who,  like  me,  has  always  105 
lived  in  the  country  and  always  on  the  same  spot,  is  drawn 
to  his  book  by  other  occult  sympathies.  Do  we  not  share 
his  indignation  at  that  stupid  Martin  who  had  graduated  his 
thermometer  no  lower  than  4°  above  zero  of  Fahrenheit,  so 


262  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

110  that  in  the  coldest  weather  ever  known  the  mercury  basely 
absconded  into  the  bulb,  and  left  us  to  see  the  victory  slip 
through  our  fingers  just  as  they  were  closing  upon  it  ?  No 
man,  I  suspect,  ever  lived  long  in  the  country  without  being 
bitten  by  these  meteorological  ambitions.  He  likes  to  be 

115  hotter  and  colder,  to  have  been  more  deeply  snowed  up,  to 
have  more  trees,  and  larger,  blown  down  than  his  neigh 
bors.  With  us  descendants  of  the  Puritans  especially, 
these  weather-competitions  supply  the  abnegated  excite 
ment  of  the  race-course.  Men  learn  to  value  thermometers 

120  of  the  true  imaginative  temperament,  capable  of  prodigious 
elations  and  corresponding  dejections.  The  other  day 
(5th  July)  I  marked  98°  in  the  shade,  my  high- water  mark, 
higher  by  one  degree  than  I  had  ever  seen  it  before.  I 
happened  to  meet  a  neighbor ;  as  we  mopped  our  brows  at 

125  each  other,  he  told  me  that  he  had  just  cleared  100°,  and  I 
went  home  a  beaten  man.  I  had  not  felt  the  heat  before, 
save  as  a  beautiful  exaggeration  of  sunshine ;  but  now  it 
oppressed  me  with  the  prosaic  vulgarity  of  an  oven.  What 
had  been  poetic  intensity  became  all  at  once  rhetorical 

130  hyperbole.  I  might  suspect  his  thermometer  (as  indeed  I 
did,  for  we  Harvard  men  are  apt  to  think  ill  of  any  gradua 
tion  save  our  own) ;  but  it  was  a  poor  consolation.  The 
fact  remained  that  his  herald  Mercury,  standing  a-tiptoe, 
could  look  down  on  mine.  I  seem  to  glimpse  something  of 

135  this  familiar  weakness  in  Mr.  White.  He,  too,  has  shared 
in  these  mercurial  triumphs  and  defeats.  Nor  do  I  doubt 
that  he  had  a  true  country-gentleman's  interest  in  the 
weathercock ;  that  his  first  question  on  coming  down  of  a 
morning  was,  like  Barabas's, 

140  "  Into  what  quarter  peers  my  halcyon's  bill  ?  " 

It  is  an  innocent  and  healthful  employment  of  the  mind, 
distracting  one  from  too  continual  study  of  oneself,  and 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  263 

leading  one  to  dwell  rather  upon  the  indigestions  of  the 
elements  than  one's  own.     "  Did  the  wind  back  round,  or 
go  about  with  the  sun  ?  "  is  a  rational  question  that  bears  145 
not  remotely  on  the  making  of  hay  and  the  prosperity  of 
crops.     I  have  little  doubt  that  the  regulated  observation 
of  the  vane  in  many  different  places,  and  the  interchange 
of  results  by  telegraph,  would  put  the  weather;  as  it  were, 
in  our  power,  by  betraying  its  ambushes  before  it  is  ready  to  150 
give  the  assault.     At  first  sight,  nothing  seems  more  drolly 
trivial  than  the  lives  of  those  whose  single  achievement  is 
to  record  the  wind  and  the  temperature  three  times  a  day. 
Yet  such  men  are  doubtless  sent  into  the  world  for  this 
special  end,  and  perhaps  there  is  no  kind  of  accurate  ob- 155 
servation,  whatever  its  object,  that  has  not  its  final  use  and 
value  for  some  one  or  other.     It  is  even  to  be  hoped  that 
the  speculations  of  our  newspaper  editors  and  their  myriad 
correspondents  upon  the  signs  of  the  political  atmosphere 
may   also  fill   their   appointed   place   in   a  well-regulated  160 
universe,  if  it  be  only  that  of  supplying  so  many  more 
jack-o'-lanterns  to  the  future  historian.     Nay,  the  observa 
tions  on  finance  of  an  M.  C.  whose  sole  knowledge  of  the 
subject  has  been  derived  from  a  lifelong  success  in  getting 
a  living  out  of  the  public  without  paying  any  equivalent  165 
therefor,  will  perhaps  be  of  interest  hereafter  to  some  ex 
plorer  of  our  cloaca  maxima,  whenever  it  is  cleansed. 

The  True  Nature  of  Democracy 

(From  Democracy) 

We  are  told  that  the  inevitable  result  of  democracy  is  to 
sap  the  foundations  of  personal  independence,  to  weaken 
the  principle  of  authorit}^,  to  lessen  the  respect  due  to  emi 
nence,  whether  in  station,  virtue,  or  genius.  If  these  things 
were  so,  society  could  not  hold  together.  Perhaps  the  best  5 


264  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

forcing-house  of  robust  individuality  would  be  where  public 
opinion  is  inclined  to  be  most  overbearing,  as  he  must  be  of 
heroic  temper  who  should  walk  along  Piccadilly  at  the 
height  of  the  season  in  a  soft  hat.  As  for  authority,  it  is 

10  one  of  the  symptoms  of  the  time  that  the  religious  reverence 
for  it  is  declining  everywhere,  but  this  is  due  partly  to  the 
fact  that  state-craft  is  no  longer  looked  upon  as  a  mystery, 
but  as  a  business,  and  partly  to  the  decay  of  superstition, 
by  which  I  mean  the  habit  of  respecting  what  we  are  told 

15  to  respect  rather  than  what  is  respectable  in  itself.  There 
is  more  rough  and  tumble  in  the  American  democracy  than 
is  altogether  agreeable  to  people  of  sensitive  nerves  and 
refined  habits,  and  the  people  take  their  political  duties 
lightly  and  laughingly,  as  is,  perhaps,  neither  unnatural 

20  nor  unbecoming  in  a  young  giant.  Democracies  can  no 
more  jump  away  from  their  own  shadows  than  the  rest  of  us 
can.  They  no  doubt  sometimes  make  mistakes  and  pay 
honor  to  men  who  do  not  deserve  it.  But  they  do  this  be 
cause  they  believe  them  worthy  of  it,  and  though  it  be  true 

25  that  the  idol  is  the  measure  of  the  worshipper,  yet  the 
worship  has  in  it  the  germ  of  a  nobler  religion.  But  is  it 
democracies  alone  that  fall  into  these  errors  ?  I,  who  have 
seen  it  proposed  to  erect  a  statue  to  Hudson,  the  railway 
king,  and  have  heard  Louis  Napoleon  hailed  as  the  saviour 

30  of  society  by  men  who  certainly  had  no  democratic  asso 
ciations  or  leanings,  am  not  ready  to  think  so.  But  de 
mocracies  have  likewise  their  finer  instincts.  I  have  also 
seen  the  wisest  statesman  and  most  pregnant  speaker  of  our 
generation,  a  man  of  humble  birth  and  ungainly  manners, 

35  of  little  culture  beyond  what  his  own  genius  supplied,  be 
come  more  absolute  in  power  than  any  monarch  of  modern 
times  through  the  reverence  of  his  countrymen  for  his 
honesty,  his  wisdom,  his  sincerity,  his  faith  in  God  and 
man,  and  the  nobly  humane  simplicity  of  his  character. 


JAMES   RUSSELL   LOWELL  265 

And  I  remember  another  whom  popular  respect  enveloped  40 
as  with  a  halo,  the  least  vulgar  of  men,  the  most  austerely 
genial,  and  the  most  independent  of  opinion.     Wherever 
he  went  he  never  met  a  stranger,  but  everywhere  neighbors 
and  friends  proud  of  him  as  their  ornament  and  decoration. 
Institutions  which  could  bear  and  breed  such  men  as  Lincoln  45 
and  Emerson  had  surely  some  energy  for  good.     No,  amid  all 
the  fruitless  turmoil  and  miscarriage  of  the  world,  if  there 
be  one  thing  steadfast  and  of  favorable  omen,  one  thing  to 
make  optimism  distrust  its  own  obscure  distrust,  it  is  the 
rooted  instinct  in  men  to  admire  what  is  better  and  more  50 
beautiful  than  themselves.     The  touchstone  of  political  and 
social  institutions  is  their  ability  to  supply  them  with  worthy 
objects  of  this   sentiment,  which  is  the  very  tap-root  of 
civilization  and  progress.     There  would  seem  to  be  no  readier 
way  of  feeding  it  with  the  elements  of  growth  and  vigor  than  55 
such  an  organization  of  society  as  will  enable  men  to  respect 
themselves,  and  so  to  justify  them  in  respecting  others. 

Such  a  result  is  quite  possible  under  other  conditions 
than  those  of  an  avowedly  democratical  Constitution.  For 
I  take  it  that  the  real  essence  of  democracy  was  fairly  enough  60 
defined  by  the  First  Napoleon  when  he  said  that  the  French 
Revolution  meant  "la  carriere  ouverte  aux  talents"  —  a 
clear  pathway  for  merit  of  whatever  kind.  I  should  be  in 
clined  to  paraphrase  this  by  calling  democracy  that  form  of 
society,  no  matter  what  its  political  classification,  in  which  65 
every  man  had  a  chance  and  knew  that  he  had  it.  If  a  man 
can  climb,  and  feels  himself  encouraged  to  climb,  from  a 
coalpit  to  the  highest  position  for  which  he  is  fitted,  he  can 
well  afford  to  be  indifferent  what  name  is  given  to  the  gov 
ernment  under  which  he  lives.  The  Bailli  of  Mirabeau,  70 
uncle  of  the  more  famous  tribune  of  that  name,  wrote  in 
1771:  "The  English  are,  in  my  opinion,  a  hundred  times 
more  agitated  and  more  unfortunate  than  the  very  Algerines 


266  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

themselves,  because  they  do  not  know  and  will  not  know 

75  till  the  destruction  of  their  over-swollen  power,  which  I  be 
lieve  very  near,  whether  they  are  monarchy,  aristocracy,  or 
democracy,  and  wish  to  play  the  part  of  all  three."  England 
has  not  been  obliging  enough  to  fulfil  the  Bailli's  prophecy, 
and  perhaps  it  was  this  very  carelessness  about  the  name, 

80  and  concern  about  the  substance  of  popular  government,  this 
skill  in  getting  the  best  out  of  things  as  they  are,  in  utilizing 
all  the  motives  which  influence  men,  and  in  giving  one 
direction  to  many  impulses,  that  has  been  a  principal  factor 
of  her  greatness  and  power.  Perhaps  it  is  fortunate  to 

85  have  an  unwritten  Constitution,  for  men  are  prone  to  be 
tinkering  the  work  of  their  own  hands,  whereas  they  are 
more  willing  to  let  time  and  circumstance  mend  or  modify 
what  time  and  circumstance  have  made.  All  free  govern 
ments,  whatever  their  name,  are  in  reality  governments  by 

90  public  opinion,  and  it  is  on  the  quality  of  this  public  opinion 
that  their  prosperity  depends.  It  is,  therefore,  their  first 
duty  to  purify  the  element  from  which  they  draw  the  breath 
of  life.  With  the  growth  of  democracy  grows  also  the  fear, 
if  not  the  danger,  that  this  atmosphere  may  be  corrupted 

95  with  poisonous  exhalations  from  lower  and  more  malarious 
levels,  and  the  question  of  sanitation  becomes  more  instant 
and  pressing.'  Democracy  in  its  best  sense  is  merely  the 
letting  in  of  light  and  air.  Lord  Sherbrooke,  with  his  usual 
epigrammatic  terseness,  bids  you  educate  your  future  rulers. 
100  But  would  this  alone  be  a  sufficient  safeguard  ?  To  educate 
the  intelligence  is  to  enlarge  the  horizon  of  its  desires  and 
wants.  And  it  is  well  that  this  should  be  so.  But  the  en 
terprise  must  go  deeper  and  prepare  the  way  for  satisfying 
those  desires  and  wants  in  so  far  as  they  are  legitimate. 
105  What  is  really  ominous  of  danger  to  the  existing  order  of 
things  is  not  democracy  (which,  properly  understood,  is  a 
conservative  force),  but  the  Socialism  which  may  find  a 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  267 

fulcrum  in  it.  If  we  cannot  equalize  conditions  and  for 
tunes  any  more  than  we  can  equalize  the  brains  of  men  — 
and  a  very  sagacious  person  has  said  that  "where  two  men  110 
,  ride  of  a  horse  one  must  ride  behind  "  —  we  can  yet,  perhaps, 
do  something  to  correct  those  methods  and  influences  that 
lead  to  enormous  inequalities,  and  to  prevent  their  growing 
more  enormous.  It  is  all  very  well  to  pooh-pooh  Mr. 
George  and  to  prove  him  mistaken  in  his  political  economy.  115 
I  do  not  believe  that  land  should  be  divided  because  the 
quantity  of  it  is  limited  by  nature.  Of  what  may  this  not 
be  said  ?  A  fortiori,  we  might  on  the  same  principle  insist 
on  a  division  of  human  wit,  for  I  have  observed  that  the 
quantity  of  this  has  been  even  more  inconveniently  limited.  120 
Mr.  George  himself  has  an  inequitably  large  share  of  it. 
But  he  is  right  in  his  impelling  motive ;  right,  also,  I  am 
convinced,  in  insisting  that  humanity  makes  a  part,  by  far 
the  most  important  part,  of  political  economy ;  and  in  think 
ing  man  to  be  of  more  concern  and  more  convincing  than  125 
the  longest  columns  of  figures  in  the  world.  For  unless  you 
include  human  nature  in  your  addition,  your  total  is  sure  to 
be  wrong  and  your  deductions  from  it  fallacious.  Com 
munism  means  barbarism,  but  Socialism  means,  or  wishes  to 
mean,  cooperation  and  community  of  interests,  sympathy,  130 
the  giving  to  the  hands  not  so  large  a  share  as  to  the  brains, 
but  a  larger  share  than  hitherto  in  the  wealth  they  must 
combine  to  produce  —  means,  in  short,  the  practical  applica 
tion  of  Christianity  to  life,  and  has  in  it  the  secret  of  an 
orderly  and  benign  reconstruction.  State  Socialism  would  135 
cut  off  the  very  roots  in  personal  character  —  self-help, 
forethought,  and  frugality  —  which  nourish  and  sustain  the 
trunk  and  branches  of  every  vigorous  Commonwealth. 

I  do  not  believe  in  violent  changes,  nor  do  I  expect  them. 
Things  in  possession  have  51  very  firm  grip.      One  of  the  140 
strongest  cements  of  society  is  the  conviction  of  mankind 


268  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

that  the  state  of  things  into  which  they  are  born  is  a  part 
of  the  order  of  the  universe,  as  natural,  let  us  say,  as  that 
the  sun  should  go  round  the  earth.  It  is  a  conviction  that 

145  they  will  not  surrender  except  on  compulsion,  and  a  wise 
society  should  look  to  it  that  this  compulsion  be  not  put 
upon  them.  For  the  individual  man  there  is  no  radical  cure, 
outside  of  human  nature  itself,  for  the  evils  to  which  human 
nature  is  heir.  The  rule  will  always  hold  good  that  you 

150  must 

"  Be  your  own  palace  or  the  world's  your  gaol." 

But  for  artificial  evils,  for  evils  that  spring  from  want  of 
thought,  thought  must  find  a  remedy  somewhere.  There 
has  been  no  period  of  time  in  which  wealth  has  been  more 

155  sensible  of  its  duties  than  now.  It  builds  hospitals,  it 
establishes  missions  among  the  poor,  it  endows  schools.  It 
is  one  of  the  advantages  of  accumulated  wealth,  and  of  the 
leisure  it  renders  possible,  that  people  have  time  to  think 
of  the  wants  and  sorrows  of  their  fellows.  But  all  these 

160  remedies  are  partial  and  palliative  merely.  It  is  as  if  we 
should  apply  plasters  to  a  single  pustule  of  the  small-pox 
with  a  view  of  driving  out  the  disease.  The  true  way  is  to 
discover  and  to  extirpate  the  germs.  As  society  is  now  con 
stituted  these  are  in  the  air  it  breathes,  in  the  water  it 

165  drinks,  in  things  that  seem,  and  which  it  has  always  be 
lieved,  to  be  the  most  innocent  and  healthful.  The  evil 
elements  it  neglects  corrupt  these  in  their  springs  and  pol 
lute  them  in  their  courses.  Let  us  be  of  good  cheer,  how 
ever,  remembering  that  the  misfortunes  hardest  to  bear  arc 

170  those  which  never  come.  The  world  has  outlived  much, 
and  will  outlive  a  great  deal  more,  and  men  have  contrived 
to  be  happy  in  it.  It  has  shown  the  strength  of  its  consti 
tution  in  nothing  more  than  in  surviving  the  quack  medi 
cines  it  has  tried.  In  the  scales  of  the  destinies  brawn  will 


SIDNEY  LANIER  269 

never  weigh  so  much  as  brain.     Our  healing  is  not  in  the  175 
storm  or  in  the  whirlwind,  it  is  not  in  monarchies,  or  aris 
tocracies,  or  democracies,  but  will  be  revealed  by  the  still 
small  voice  that  speaks  to  the  conscience  and  the  heart, 
prompting  us  to  a  wider  and  wiser  humanity. 


SIDNEY  LANIER 
My  Springs  l 

In  the  heart  of  the  Hills  of  Life,  I  know 
Two  springs  that  with  unbroken  flow 
Forever  pour  their  lucent  streams 
Into  my  soul's  far  Lake  of  Dreams. 

Not  larger  than  two  eyes,  they  lie  6 

Beneath  the  many-changing  sky 
And  mirror  all  of  life  and  time, 

—  Serene  and  dainty  pantomime. 

Shot  through  with  lights  of  stars  and  dawns, 

And  shadowed  sweet  by  ferns  and  fawns,  10 

—  Thus  heaven  and  earth  together  vie 
Their  shining  depths  to  sanctify. 

Always  when  the  large  Form  of  Love 

Is  hid  by  storms  that  rage  above, 

I  gaze  in  my  two  springs  and  see  1  _ 

Love  in  his  very  verity. 

Always  when  Faith  with  stifling  stress 

Of  grief  hath  died  in  bitterness, 

I  gaze  in  my  two  springs  and  see 

A  Faith  that  smiles  immortally.  20 

iFrom  "  Poems  of  Sidney  Lanier  "  :   copyright,  1884,  1891  ;   published 
by  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 


270  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

Always  when  Charity  and  Hope, 
In  darkness  bounden,  feebly  grope, 
I  gaze  in  my  two  springs  and  see 
A  Light  that  sets  my  captives  free. 

25  Always,  when  Art  on  perverse  wing 

Flies  where  I  cannot  hear  him  sing, 
I  gaze  in  my  two  springs  and  see 
A  charm  that  brings  him  back  to  me. 

When  Labor  faints,  and  Glory  fails, 
30  And  coy  Reward  in  sighs  exhales, 

I  gaze  in  my  two  springs  and  see 
Attainment  full  and  heavenly. 

O  Love,  O  Wife,  thine  eyes  are  they, 
—  My  springs  from  out  whose  shining  gray 
35  Issue  the  sweet  celestial  streams 

That  feed  my  life's  bright  Lake  of  Dreams. 

Oval  and  large  and  passion-pure 
And  gray  and  wise  and  honor-sure ; 
Soft  as  a  dying  violet-breath 
40  Yet  calmly  unafraid  of  death  ; 

Thronged,  like  two  dove-cotes  of  gray  doves, 
With  wife's  and  mother's  and  poor-folk's  loves. 
And  home-loves  and  high  glory-loves 
And  science-loves  and  story-loves, 

45  And  loves  for  all  that  God  and  man 

In  art  and  nature  make  or  plan, 
And  lady-loves  for  spidery  lace 
And  broideries  and  supple  grace 

And  diamonds  and  the  whole  sweet  round 
50  Of  littles  that  large  life  compound, 

And  loves  for  God  and  God's  bare  truth, 
And  loves  for  Magdalen  and  Ruth, 


SIDNEY  LANIER  271 

Dear  eyes,  dear  eyes  and  rare  complete  — 

Being  heavenly-sweet  and  earthly-sweet, 

—  I  marvel  that  God  made  you  mine,  55 

For  when  He  frowns,  'tis  then  ye  shine ! 


Song  of  the  Chattahoochee l 

Out  of  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

Down  the  valleys  of  Hall, 
I  hurry  amain  to  reach  the  plain, 
Kun  the  rapid  and  leap  the  fall, 

Split  at  the  rock  and  together  again,  5 

Accept  my  bed,  or  narrow  or  wide, 
And  flee  from  folly  on  every  side 
With  a  lover's  pain  to  attain  the  plain 

Far  from  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

Far  from  the  valleys  of  Hall.  10 

All  down  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

All  through  the  valleys  of  Hall, 
The  rushes  cried  Abide,  abide, 
The  willful  waterweeds  held  me  thrall, 

The  laving  laurel  turned  my  tide,  15 

The  ferns  and  the  fondling  grass  said  Stay, 
The  dewberry  dipped  for  to  work  delay, 
And  the  little  reeds  sighed  Abide,  abide, 

Here  in  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

Here  in  the  valleys  of  Hall.  20 

High  o'er  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

Veiling  the  valleys  of  Hall, 
The  hickory  told  me  manifold 
Fair  tales  of  shade,  the  poplar  tall 
Wrought  me  her  shadowy  self  to  hold,  25 

1  From  "Poems  of  Sidney  Lanier"  :   copyright,  1884,  1891;   published 
by  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 


A 


272  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

The  chestnut,  the  oak,  the  walnut,  the  pine, 
Overleaning,  with  flickering  meaning  and  sign, 
Said,  Pass  not,  so  cold,  these  manifold 

Deep  shades  of  the  hills  of  Habersham, 
30  These  glades  in  the  valleys  of  Hall. 

And  oft  in  the  hills  of  Habersham, 
And  oft  in  the  valleys  of  Hall, 

The  white  quartz  shone,  and  the  smooth  brook-stone 
Did  bar  me  of  passage  with  friendly  brawl, 
35  And  many  a  luminous  jewel  lone 

—  Crystals  clear  or  a-cloud  with  mist, 

Ruby,  garnet  and  amethyst  — 

Made  lures  with  the  lights  of  streaming  stone 

In  the  clefts  of  the  hills  of  Habersham, 
40  In  the  beds  of  the  valleys  of  Hall. 

But  oh,  not  the  hills  of  Habersham, 
And  oh,  not  the  valleys  of  Hall 
Avail :  I  am  fain  for  to  water  the  plain. 
Downward  the  voices  of  Duty  call  — 
45  Downward,  to  toil  and  be  mixed  with  the  main, 

The  dry  fields  burn,  and  the  mills  are  to  turn, 
And  a  myriad  flowers  mortally  yearn, 
And  the  lordly  main  from  beyond  the  plain 

Calls  o'er  the  hills  of  Habersham, 
50  Calls  through  the  valleys  of  Hall. 

HENRY  WOODFIN   GRADY 
The  New  South 

"  There  was  a  South,  of  slavery  and  secession  —  that  South 
is  dead.  There  is  a  South  of  union  and  freedom  —  that 
South,  thank  God,  is  living,  breathing,  growing  every  hour." 
These  words,  delivered  from  the  immortal  lips  of  Benjamin 
5H.  Hill,  at  Tammany  Hall,  in  1866,  true  then  and  truer 
now,  I  shall  make  my  text  to-night. 


HENRY  WOODFIN  GRADY  273 

Mr.  President  and  Gentlemen  :  Let  me  express  to  you  my 
appreciation  of  the  kindness  by  which  I  am  permitted  to 
address  you.  I  make  this  abrupt  acknowledgment  advisedly, 
for  I  feel  that  if,  when  I  raise  my  provincial  voice  in  this  10 
ancient  and  august  presence,  it  could  find  courage  for  no 
more  than  the  opening  sentence,  it  would  be  well  if  in  that 
sentence  I  had  met  in  a  rough  sense  my  obligation  as  a 
guest,  and  had  perished,  so  to  speak,  with  courtesy  on  my 
lips  and  grace  in  my  heart.  15 

Permitted,  through  your  kindness,  to  catch  my  second 
wind,  let  me  say  that  I  appreciate  the  significance  of  being 
the  first  Southerner  to  speak  at  this  board,  which  bears  the 
substance,  if  it  surpasses  the  semblance,  of  original  New 
England  hospitality — and  honors  the  sentiment  that  in  20 
turn  honors  you,  but  in  which  my  personality  is  lost,  and 
the  compliment  to  my  people  made  plain. 

I  bespeak  the  utmost  stretch  of  your  courtesy  to-night. 
I  am  not  troubled  about  those  from  whom  I  come.  You 
remember  the  man  whose  wife  sent  him  to  a  neighbor  with  25 
a  pitcher  of  milk,  and  who,  tripping  on  the  top  step,  fell 
with  such  casual  interruptions  as  the  landings  afforded  into 
the  basement,  and,  while  picking  himself  up,  had  the  pleas 
ure  of  hearing  his  wife  call  out :  "  John,  did  you  break  the 
pitcher  ?  "  30 

"No,  I  didn't,"  said  John,  "but  I'll  be  dinged  if  I  don't." 

So,  while  those  who  call  me  from  behind  may  inspire  me 
with  energy,  if  not  with  courage,  I  ask  an  indulgent  hearing 
from  you.  I  beg  that  you  will  bring  your  full  faith  in 
American  fairness  and  frankness  to  judgment  upon  what  1 35 
shall  say.  There  was  an  old  preacher  once  who  told  some 
boys  of  the  Bible  lesson  he  was  going  to  read  in  the  morn 
ing.  The  boys,  finding  the  place,  glued  together  the  con 
necting  pages.  The  next  morning  he  read  on  the  bottom  of 
one  page,  "  When  Noah  was  one  hundred  and  twenty  years  40 


274  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

old  lie  took  unto  himself  a  wife,  who  was  "  —  then  turning 
the  page — "  140  cubits  long — 40  cubits  wide,  built  of  gopher 
wood  —  and  covered  with  pitch  inside  and  out."  He  was 
naturally  puzzled  at  this.  He  read  it  again,  verified  it,  and 

45  then  said :  "  My  friends,  this  is  the  first  time  I  ever  met 
this  in  the  Bible,  but  I  accept  this  as  an  evidence  of  the 
assertion  that  we  are  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made."  If 
I  could  get  you  to  hold  such  faith  to-night  I  could  proceed 
cheerfully  to  the  task  I  otherwise  approach  with  a  sense  of 

50  consecration. 

Pardon  me  one  word,  Mr.  President,  spoken  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  getting  into  the  volumes  that  go  out  annually 
freighted  with  the  rich  eloquence  of  your  speakers  —  the 
fact  that  the  Cavalier,  as  well  as  the  Puritan,  was  on  the 

55  continent  in  its  early  days,  and  that  he  was  "  up  and  able 
to  be  about."  I  have  read  your  books  carefully  and  I  find 
no  mention  of  the  fact,  which  seems  to  me  an  important  one 
for  preserving  a  sort  of  historical  equilibrium,  if  for  nothing 
else. 

60  Let  me  remind  you  that  the  Virginia  Cavalier  first  chal 
lenged  France  on  the  continent  —  that  Cavalier  John  Smith 
gave  New  England  its  very  name,  and  was  so  pleased  with 
the  job  that  he  has  been  handing  his  own  name  around  ever 
since  —  and  that  while  Myles  Standish  was  cutting  off  men's 

65  ears  for  courting  a  girl  without  her  parent's  consent,  and 
forbade  men  to  kiss  their  wives  on  Sunday,  the  Cavalier 
was  courting  everything  in  sight,  and  that  the  Almighty 
had  vouchsafed  great  increase  to  the  Cavalier  colonies,  the 
huts  in  the  wilderness  being  as  full  as  the  nests  in  the 

70  woods. 

But  having  incorporated  the  Cavalier  as  a  fact  in  your 
charming  little  books,  I  shall  let  him  work  out  his  own  sal 
vation,  as  he  has  always  done,  with  engaging  gallantry,  and 
we  will  hold  no  controversy  as  to  his  merits.  Why  should 


HENRY    WOODFIN   GRADY  275 

we  ?     Neither  Puritan  nor  Cavalier  long  survived  as  such.  75 
The  virtues  and  good  traditions  of  both  happily  still  live 
for  the  inspiration  of  their  sons  and  the  saving  of  the  old 
fashion.     But  both  Puritan  and  Cavalier  were  lost  in  the 
storm  of  the  first  Revolution,  and  the  American  citizen,  sup 
planting  both  and  stronger  than  either,  took  possession  of  80 
the  republic  bought  by  their  common  blood  and  fashioned  to 
wisdom,  and  charged  himself  with  teaching  men  government 
and  establishing  the  voice  of  the  people  as  the  voice  of  God. 

My  friends,  Dr.  Talmage  has  told  you  that  the  typical 
American  has  yet  to  come.     Let  me  tell  you  that  he  has  85 
already  come.     Great  types,  like  valuable  plants,  are  slow 
to  flower  and  fruit.     But  from  the  union  of  these  colonists, 
Puritans  and  Cavaliers,  from  the  straightening  of  their  pur 
poses  and  the  crossing  of  their  blood,  slow  perfecting  through 
a  century,  came  he  who  stands  as  the  first  typical  American,  90 
the  first  who  comprehended  within  himself  all  the  strength 
and  gentleness,  all  the  majesty  and  grace  of  this  republic  — 
Abraham  Lincoln.     He  was  the  sum  of  Puritan  and  Cavalier, 
for  in  his  ardent  nature  were  fused  the  virtues  of  both,  and 
in  the  depths  of  his  great  soul  the  faults  of  both  were  lost.  95 
He  was  greater  than  Puritan,  greater  than  Cavalier,  in  that 
he  was  American,  and  that  in  his  honest  form  were  first 
gathered  the  vast  and  thrilling  forces  of  his  ideal  government 
—  charging  it  with  such  tremendous  meaning  and  elevating 
it  above   human  suffering  that  martyrdom,   though    infa- 100 
mously  aimed,  came  as  a  fitting  crown  to  a  life  consecrated 
from  the  cradle  to  human  liberty.     Let  us,  each  cherishing 
the  traditions  and  honoring  his  fathers,  build  with  reverent 
hands  to  the  type  of  this  simple  but  sublime  life,  in  which 
all  types  are  honored,  and  in  our  common  glory  as  Americans  105 
there  will  be  plenty  and  to  spare  for  your  forefathers  and 
for  mine. 

Dr.  Talmage  has  drawn  for  you,  with  a  master's  hand,  the 


276  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

picture  of  your  returning  armies.     He  has  told  you  how,  in 

no  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  war,  they  came  back  to  you, 
marching  with  proud  and  victorious  tread,  reading  their 
glory  in  a  nation's  eyes !  Will  you  bear  with  me  while  I 
tell  you  of  another  army  that  sought  its  home  at  the  close 
of  the  late  war  —  an  army  that  marched  home  in  defeat  arid 

115  not  in  victory  —  in  pathos  and  not  in  splendor,  but  in  glory 
that  equaled  yours,  and  to  hearts  as  loving  as  ever  welcomed 
heroes  home ! 

Let  me  picture  to  you  the  footsore  Confederate  soldier,  as 
buttoning  up  in  his  faded  gray  jacket  the  parole  which  was 

120  to  bear  testimony  to  his  children  of  his  fidelity  and  faith,  he 
turned  his  face  southward  from  Appomattox  in  April,  1865. 
Think  of  him  as  ragged,  half -starved,  heavy-hearted,  en 
feebled  by  want  and  wounds,  having  fought  to  exhaustion, 
he  surrenders  his  gun,  wrings  the  hands  of  his  comrades  in 

125  silence,  and  lifting  his  tear-stained  and  pallid  face  for  the 
last  time  to  the  graves  that  dot  old  Virginia  hills,  pulls  his 
gray  cap  over  his  brow  and  begins  the  slow  and  painful 
journey. 

What  does  he  find  —  let  me  ask  you  who  went  to  your 

130  homes  eager  to  find,  in  the  welcome  you  had  justly  earned, 
full  payment  for  four  years'  sacrifice  —  what  does  he  find 
when,  having  followed  the  battle-stained  cross  against  over 
whelming  odds,  dreading  death  not  half  so  much  as  surrender, 
he  reaches  the  home  he  left  so  prosperous  and  beautiful  ? 

135  He  finds  his  house  in  ruins,  his  farm  devastated,  his  slaves 
free,  his  stock  killed,  his  barns  empty,  his  trade  destroyed, 
his  money  worthless,  his  social  system,  feudal  in  its  mag 
nificence,  swept  away ;  his  people  without  law  or  legal  status  ; 
his  comrades  slain,  and  the  burdens  of  others  heavy  on  his 

140  shoulders.  Crushed  by  defeat,  his  very  traditions  are  gone. 
Without  money,  credit,  employment,  material,  or  training ; 
and  besides  all  this,  confronted  with  the  gravest  problem 


HENRY  WOODFIN   GRADY  277 

that  ever  met  human  intelligence  —  the  establishment  of  a 
status  for  the  vast  body  of  his  liberated  slaves. 

What  does  he  do  —  this  hero  in  gray  with  a  heart  of  gold  ?  145 
Does  he  sit  down  in  sullenness  and  despair  ?     Not  for  a  day. 
Surely  God,  who  had  stripped  him  of  his  prosperity,  inspired 
him  in  his  adversity.     As  ruin  was  never  before  so  over 
whelming,  never  was  restoration  swifter. 

The  soldier  stepped  from  the  trenches  into  the  furrow ;  150 
horses  that  had  charged  Federal  guns  marched  before  the 
plow,  and  fields  that  ran  red  with  human  blood  in  April 
were  green  with  the  harvest  in  June ;  women  reared  in  lux 
ury  cut  up  their  dresses  and  made  breeches  for  their  hus 
bands,  and,  with  a  patience  and  heroism  that  fit  women  155 
always  as  a  garment,  gave  their  hands  to  work.  There  was 
little  bitterness  in  all  this.  Cheerfulness  and  frankness 
prevailed.  "  Bill  Arp  "  struck  the  key-note  when  he  said  : 
"  Well,  I  killed  as  many  of  them  as  they  did  of  me,  and 
now  I'm  going  to  work."  So  did  the  soldier  returning  home  160 
after  defeat  and  roasting  some  corn  on  the  roadside  who 
made  the  remark  to  his  comrades:  "You  may  leave  the 
South  if  you  want  to,  but  I'm  going  to  Sandersville,  kiss  my 
wife  and  raise  a  crop,  and  if  the  Yankees  fool  with  me  any 
more,  I'll  whip  'em  again."  165 

I  want  to  say  to  General  Sherman,  who  is  considered  an 
able  man  in  our  parts,  though  some  people  think  he  is  a  kind 
of  careless  man  about  fire,  that  from  the  ashes  he  left  us  in 
1864  we  have  raised  a  brave  and  beautiful  city ;  that  some 
how  or  other  we  have  caught  the  sunshine  in  the  bricks  and  170 
mortar  of  our  homes,  and  have  builded  therein  not  one  igno 
ble  prejudice  or  memory. 

But  what  is  the  sum  of  our  work  ?     We  have  found  out 
that  in  the  summing  up  the  free  negro  counts  more  than  he 
did  as  a  slave.     We  have  planted  the  schoolhouse  on  the  175 
hilltop  and  made  it  free  to  white    and    black.     We    have 


278  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

sowed  towns  and  cities  in  the  place  of  theories,  and  put 
business  above  politics.  We  have  challenged  your  spinners 
in  Massachusetts  and  your  iron-makers  in  Pennsylvania. 

180  We  have  learned  that  $400,000,000  annually  received  from 
our  cotton  crop  will  make  us  rich  when  the  supplies  that 
make  it  are  home-raised.  We  have  reduced  the  commercial 
rate  of  interest  from  24  to  6  per  cent.,  and  are  floating  4  per 
cent,  bonds.  We  have  learned  that  one  Northern  immigrant 

185  is  worth  fifty  foreigners  and  have  smoothed  the  path  to 

Southward,  wiped  out  the  place  where  Mason  and  Dixon's 

line  used  to  be,  and  hung  out  the  latchstring  to  you  and  yours. 

We  have  reached  the  point  that  marks  perfect  harmony 

in  every  household,  when  the  husband  confesses  that  the 

190  pies  which  his  wife  cooks  are  as  good  as  those  his  mother 
used  to  bake ;  and  we  admit  that  the  sun  shines  as  brightly 
and  the  moon  as  softly  as  it  did  before  the  war.  We  have 
established  thrift  in  city  and  country.  We  have  fallen  in 
love  with  work.  We  have  restored  comfort  to  homes  from 

195  which  culture  and  elegance  never  departed.  We  have  let 
economy  take  root  and  spread  among  us  as  rank  as  the  crab- 
grass  which  sprung  from  Sherman's  cavalry  camps,  until  we 
are  ready  to  lay  odds  on  the  Georgia  Yankee  as  he  manu 
factures  relics  of  the  battlefield  in  a  one-story  shanty  and 

200  squeezes  pure  olive-oil  out  of  his  cottonseed,  against  any 
down-easter  that  ever  swapped  wooden  nutmegs  for  flannel 
sausage  in  the  valleys  of  Vermont.  Above  all,  we  know 
that  we  have  achieved  in  these  "  piping  times  of  peace "  a 
fuller  independence  for  the  South  than  that  which  our 

205  fathers  sought  to  win  in  the  forum  by  their  eloquence  or 
compel  in  the  field  by  their  swords. 

It  is  a  rare  privilege,  sir,  to  have  had  part,  however 
humble,  in  this  work.  Never  was  nobler  duty  confided  to 
human  hands  than  the  uplifting  and  upbuilding  of  the  pros- 

2lOtrate  and  bleeding  South  —  misguided,  perhaps,  but  beau- 


HENRY  WOODFIN  GRADY  279 

tiful  in  her  suffering,  and  honest,  brave,  and  generous  al 
ways.  In  the  record  of  her  social,  industrial,  and  political 
illustration  we  await  with  confidence  the  verdict  of  the 
world. 

But  what  of  the  negro  ?     Have  we  solved  the  problem  he  215 
presents  or  progressed  in  honor  and  equity  toward  solution  ? 
Let  the  record  speak  to  the  point.     No  section  shows  a 
more  prosperous  laboring  population  than  the  negroes  of  the 
South,  none  in  fuller  sympathy  with  the  employing  and 
land-owning  class.     He  shares  our  school  fund,  has  the  full-  220 
est  protection  of  our  laws  and  the  friendship  of  our  people. 
Self-interest,  as  well  as  honor,  demand  that  he  should  have 
this.     Our  future,  our  very  existence  depend  upon  our  work 
ing  out  this  problem  in  full  and  exact  justice.     We  under 
stand  that  when  Lincoln  signed  the  emancipation  proclama-  225 
tion,  your  victory  was  assured,  for  he  then  committed  you 
to  the  cause  of  human  liberty,  against  which  the  arms  of 
man  cannot  prevail  —  while  those  of  our  statesmen  who 
trusted  to  make  slavery  the  cornerstone  of  the  Confederacy 
doomed  us  to  defeat  as  far  as  they  could,  committing  us  to  230 
a  cause  that  reason  could  not  defend  or  the  sword  main 
tain  in  sight  of  advancing  civilization. 

Had  Mr.  Toombs  said,  which  he  did  not  say,  "that  he 
would  call  the  roll  of  his  slaves  at  the  foot  of  Bunker  Hill," 
he  would  have  been  foolish,  for  he  might  have  known  that  235 
whenever  slavery  became  entangled  in  war  it  must  perish, 
and  that  the  chattel  in  human  flesh  ended  forever  in  New 
England  when  your  fathers  —  not  to  be  blamed  for  parting 
with  what  didn't  pay — sold  their  slaves  to  our  fathers  — 
not  to  be  praised  for  knowing  a  paying  thing  when  they  240 
saw  it.  The  relations  of  the  Southern  people  with  the  negro 
are  close  and  cordial.  We  remember  with  what  fidelity  for 
four  years  he  guarded  our  defenseless  women  and  children, 
whose  husbands  and  fathers  were  fighting  against  his  free- 


280  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

245  dom.  To  his  eternal  credit  be  it  said  that  whenever  he 
struck  a  blow  for  his  own  liberty  he  fought  in  open  battle, 
and  when  at  last  he  raised  his  black  and  humble  hands  that 
the  shackles  might  be  struck  off,  those  hands  were  innocent 
of  wrong  against  his  helpless  charges,  and  worthy  to  be 

250  taken  in  loving  grasp  by  every  man  who  honors  loyalty  and 
devotion.  Ruffians  have  maltreated  him,  rascals  have  mis 
led  him,  philanthropists  established  a  bank  for  him,  but  the 
South,  with  the  North,  protests  against  injustice  to  this 
simple  and  sincere  people. 

255  To  liberty  and  enfranchisement  is  as  far  as  law  can  carry 
the  negro.  The  rest  must  be  left  to  conscience  and  common 
sense.  It  must  be  left  to  those  among  whom  his  lot  is  cast, 
with  whom  he  is  indissolubly  connected,  and  whose  pros 
perity  depends  upon  their  possessing  his  intelligent  sym- 

260  pathy  and  confidence.  Faith  has  been  kept  with  him,  in 
spite  of  calumnious  assertions  to  the  contrary  by  those  who 
assume  to  speak  for  us  or  by  frank  opponents.  Faith  will 
be  kept  with  him  in  the  future,  if  the  South  holds  her  rea 
son  and  integrity. 

265  But  have  we  kept  faith  with  you  ?  In  the  fullest  sense, 
yes.  When  Lee  surrendered  —  I  don't  say  when  Johnston 
surrendered,  because  I  understand  he  still  alludes  to  the  time 
when  he  met  General  Sherman  last  as  the  time  when  he  de 
termined  to  abandon  any  further  prosecution  of  the  struggle 

270  —  when  Lee  surrendered,  I  say,  and  Johnston  quit,  the 
South  became  and  has  since  been,  loyal  to  this  Union.  We 
fought  hard  enough  to  know  that  we  were  whipped,  and  in 
perfect  frankness  accept  as  final  the  arbitrament  of  the  sword 
to  which  we  had  appealed.  The  South  found  her  jewel  in 

275  the  toad's  head  of  defeat.  The  shackles  that  had  held  her 
in  narrow  limitations  fell  forever  when  the  shackles  of  the 
negro  slave  were  broken.  Under  the  old  regime  the  negroes 
were  slaves  to  the  South;  the  South  was  a  slave  to  the 


HENRY  WOODFIN   GRADY  281 

system.  The  old  plantation,  with  its  simple  police  regula 
tions  and  feudal  habit,  was  the  only  type  possible  under  280 
slavery.  Thus  was  gathered  in  the  hands  of  a  splendid  and 
chivalric  oligarchy  the  substance  that  should  have  been  dif 
fused  among  the  people,  as  the  rich  blood,  under  certain 
artificial  conditions,  is  gathered  at  the  heart,  filling  that  with 
affluent  rapture  but  leaving  the  body  chill  and  colorless.  285 

The  old  South  rested  everything  on  slavery  and  agricul 
ture,  unconscious  that  these  could  neither  give  nor  maintain 
healthy  growth.  The  new  South  presents  a  perfect  de 
mocracy,  the  oligarchs  leading  in  the  popular  movement — a 
social  system  compact  and  closely  knitted,  less  splendid  on  290 
the  surface,  but  stronger  at  the  core  —  a  hundred  farms  for 
every  plantation,  fifty  homes  for  every  palace  —  and  a  diver 
sified  industry  that  meets  the  complex  needs  of  this  complex 
age. 

The  new  South  is  enamored  of  her  new  work.     Her  soul  295 
is  stirred  with  the  breath  of  a  new  life.     The  light  of  a 
grander  day  is  falling  fair  on  her  face.     She  is  thrilling  with 
the  consciousness  of  growing  power  and  prosperity.     As  she 
stands  upright,  full-statured  and  equal  among  the  people  of 
the  earth,  breathing  the  keen  air  and  looking  out  upon  the  300 
expanded  horizon,  she  understands  that  her  emancipation 
came  because  through  the  inscrutable  wisdom  of  God  her 
honest  purpose  was   crossed,  and  her  brave   armies  were 
beaten. 

This  is  said  in  no  spirit  of  time-serving  or  apology.     The  305 
South  has  nothing  for  which  to  apologize.     She  believes 
that  the  late  struggle  between  the  States  was  war  and  not 
rebellion ;  revolution  and  not  conspiracy,  and  that  her  con 
victions  were  as  honest  as  yours.     I  should  be  unjust  to  the 
dauntless  spirit  of  the  South  and  to  my  own  convictions  if  310 
I  did  not  make  this  plain  in  this  presence.     The  South  has 
nothing  to  take  back. 


282  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

In  my  native  town  of  Athens  is  a  monument  that  crowns 

its  central  hill  —  a  plain,  white  shaft.     Deep  cut  into  its 

315  shining  side  is  a  name  dear  to  me  above  the  names  of  men 

—  that  of  a  brave  and  simple  man  who  died  in  brave  and 
simple  faith.     Not  for  all  the  glories  of  New  England,  from 
Plymouth  Rock  all  the  way,  would  I  exchange  the  heritage 
he  left  me  in  his  soldier's  death.     To  the  foot  of  that  I  shall 

320  send  my  children's  children  to  reverence  him  who  ennobled 
their  name  with  his  heroic  blood.  But,  sir,  speaking  from 
the  shadow  of  that  memory  which  I  honor  as  I  do  nothing 
else  on  earth,  I  say  that  the  cause  in  which  he  suffered  and 
for  which  he  gave  his  life  was  adjudged  by  higher  and  fuller 

325  wisdom  than  his  or  mine,  and  I  am  glad  that  the  omniscient 
God  held  the  balance  of  battle  in  His  Almighty  hand  and 
that  human  slavery  was  swept  forever  from  American  soil 

—  that  the  American  Union  was  saved  from  the  wreck  of 
war. 

330  This  message,  Mr.  President,  comes  to  you  from  con 
secrated  ground.  Every  foot  of  soil  about  the  city  in  which 
I  live  is  sacred  as  a  battle-ground  of  the  republic.  Every 
hill  that  invests  it  is  hallowed  to  you  by  the  blood  of  your 
brothers  who  died  for  your  victory,  and  doubly  hallowed  to 

335  us  by  the  blood  of  those  who  died  hopeless,  but  undaunted, 
in  defeat  —  sacred  soil  to  all  of  us  —  rich  with  memories 
that  make  us  purer  and  stronger  and  better  —  silent  but 
staunch  witnesses  in  its  red  desolation  of  the  matchless 
valor  of  American  hearts  and  the  deathless  glory  of  Ameri- 

340  can  arms  —  speaking  an  eloquent  witness  in  its  white  peace 
and  prosperity  to  the  indissoluble  union  of  American  States 
and  the  imperishable  brotherhood  of  the  American  people. 

Now,  what  answer  has  New  England  to  this  message? 
Will  she  permit  the  prejudice  of  war  to  remain  in  the  hearts 

345  of  the  conquerors,  when  it  has  died  in  the  hearts  of  the 
conquered  ?  Will  she  transmit  this  prejudice  to  the  next 


HENRY  WOODFIN  GRADY        283 

generation,  that  in  their  hearts  which  never  felt  the  generous 
ardor  of  conflict  it  may  perpetuate  itself  ?     Will  she  with 
hold,  save  in  strained  courtesy,  the  hand  which  straight 
from  his  soldier's  heart  Grant  offered  to  Lee  at  Appomattox  ?  350 
Will  she  make  the  vision  of  a  restored  and  happy  people, 
which  gathered  above  the  couch  of  your  dying  captain,  fill 
ing  his  heart  with  grace,  touching  his  lips  with  praise,  and 
glorifying  his  path  to  the  grave  —  will  she  make  this  vision 
on  which  the  last  sigh  of  his  expiring  soul  breathed  a  bene-  355 
diction,  a  cheat  and  delusion  ? 

If  she  does,  the  South,  never  abject  in  asking  for  comrade 
ship,  must  accept  with  dignity  its  refusal ;  but  if  she  does 
not  refuse  to  accept  in  frankness  and  sincerity  this  message 
of  good  will  and  friendship,  then  will  the  prophecy  of  Web-  360 
ster,  delivered  in  this  very  society  forty  years  ago  amid 
tremendous  applause,  become  true,  be  verified  in  its  fullest 
sense,  when  he  said :  "  Standing  hand  to  hand  and  clasping 
hands,  we  should  remain  united  as  we  have  been  for  sixty 
years,  citizens  of  the  same  country,  members  of  the  same  365 
government,  united,  all  united  now  and  united  forever." 
There  have  been  difficulties,  contentions,  and  controversies, 
but  I  tell  you  that  in  my  judgment, 

"  Those  opened  eyes, 

Which  like  the  meteors  of  a  troubled  heaven,  370 

All  of  one  nature,  of  one  substance  bred, 
Did  lately  meet  in  th'  intestine  shock, 
Shall  now,  in  mutual  well  beseeming  ranks, 
March  all  one  way." 


284  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

GEORGE   WILLIAM   CURTIS1 

Advantages  of  Not  Traveling 

(From  Prue  and  I) 

I  do  not  know  how  it  is,  but  surely  Nature  makes  kindly 
provision.  An  imagination  so  easily  excited  as  mine  could 
not  have  escaped  disappointment  if  it  had  had  ample  op 
portunity  and  experience  of  the  lands  it  so  longed  to  see. 

5  Therefore,  although  I  made  the  India  voyage,  I  have  never 
been  a  traveler,  and,  saving  the  little  time  I  was  ashore  in 
India,  I  did  not  lose  the  sense  of  novelty  and  romance 
which  the  first  sight  of  foreign  lands  inspires. 

That  little  time  was  all  my  foreign  travel.     I  am  glad  of 

10  it.  I  see  now  that  I  should  never  have  found  the  country 
from  which  the  East  Indiaman  of  my  early  days  arrived. 
The  palm  groves  do  not  grow  with  which  that  hand  laid 
upon  the  ship  placed  me  in  magic  conception.  As  for  the 
lovely  Indian  maid  whom  the  palmy  arches  bowered,  she 

15  has  long  since  clasped  some  native  lover  to  her  bosom,  and, 
ripened  into  mild  maternity,  how  should  I  know  her  now  ? 
"  You  would  find  her  quite  as  easily  now  as  then,'7  says 
my  Prue,  when  I  speak  of  it. 

She  is  right  again,  as  usual,  that  precious  woman ;  and  it 

20  is  therefore  I  feel  that  if  the  chances  of  life  have  moored 
me  fast  to  a  book-keeper's  desk,  they  have  left  all  the  lands 
I  longed  to  see  fairer  and  fresher  in  my  mind  than  they 
could  ever  be  in  my  memory.  Upon  my  only  voyage  I 
used  to  climb  into  the  top  and  search  the  horizon  for  the 

25  shore.  But  now  in  a  moment  of  calm  thought  I  see  a  more 
Indian  India  than  ever  mariner  discerned,  and  do  not  envy 

i  The  extracts  from  Prue  and  I  and  The  Public  Duty  of  Educated 
Men  are  used  by  permission  of  Harper  and  Brothers,  authorized  pub 
lishers  of  Curtis's  works. 


GEORGE  WILLIAM   CURTIS  285 

the  youths  who  go  there  and  make  fortunes,  who  wear  grass- 
cloth  jackets,  drink  iced  beer,  and  eat  curry ;  whose  minds 
fall  asleep,  and  whose  bodies  have  liver  complaints. 

Unseen  by  me  forever,  nor  ever  regretted,  shall  wave  the  30 
Egyptian  palms  and  the  Italian  pines.     Untrodden  by  me, 
the   Forum  shall  still   echo  with  the  footfall  of  imperial 
Rome,  and  the  Parthenon,  unrifled  of  its  marbles,  look  per 
fect  across  the  JEgean  blue.     My  young  friends  return  from 
their  tours  elate  with  the  smiles  of  a  nameless  Italian  or  35 
Parisian  belle.     I  know  not  such  cheap  delights;  I  am  a 
suitor  of  Vittoria  Colonna;  I  walk  with  Tasso  along  the 
terraced  garden  of  the  Villa  d'Este,  and  look  to  see  Beatrice 
smiling  down  the  rich  gloom  of  the  cypress  shade.     You 
stayed  at  the  Hotel  Europa  in  Venice,  at  Danieli's,  or  the  40 
Leone  Bianco;  I  am  the  guest  of  Marino  Faliero,  and  I 
whisper  to  his  wife,  as  we  climb  the  giant  staircase  in  the 
summer  moonlight, 

"  Ah  !  senza  am  are 

Andare  sul  mare,  45 

Col  sposo  del  mare, 
Non  puo  consolare." 

It  is  for  the  same  reason  that  I  did  not  care  to  dine  with 
you  and  Aurelia  that  I  am  content  not  to  stand  in  St. 
Peter's.  Alas  !  if  I  could  see  the  end  of  it,  it  would  not  be  50 
St.  Peter's.  For  those  of  us  whom  Nature  means  to  keep 
at  home  she  provides  entertainment.  One  man  goes  four 
thousand  miles  to  Italy  and  does  not  see  it,  he  is  so  short 
sighted.  Another  is  so  far-sighted  that  he  stays  in  his 
room  and  sees  more  than  Italy.  55 

But  for  this  very  reason  that  it  washes  the  shores  of  my 
possible  Europe  and  Asia,  the  sea  draws  me  constantly  to 
itself.  Before  I  came  to  New  York,  while  I  was  still  a 
clerk  in  Boston,  courting  Prue  and  living  out  of  town, 


286  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

60 1  never  knew  of  a  ship  sailing  for  India,  or  even  for  Eng 
land  and  France,  but  I  went  up  to  the  State-house  cupola  or 
to  the  observatory  on  some  friend's  house  in  Roxbury, 
where  I  could  not  be  interrupted,  and  there  watched  the 
departure. 

65  The  sails  hung  ready  ;  the  ship  lay  in  the  stream ;  busy 
little  boats  and  puffing  steamers  darted  about  it,  clung  to 
its  sides,  paddled  away  from  it,  or  led  the  way  to  sea,  as 
minnows  might  pilot  a  whale.  The  anchor  was  slowly 
swung  at  the  bow ;  I  could  not  hear  the  sailors'  song,  but  I 

70  knew  they  were  singing.  I  could  not  see  the  parting 
friends,  but  I  knew  farewells  were  spoken.  I  did  not  share 
the  confusion,  although  I  knew  what  bustle  there  was,  what 
hurry,  what  shouting,  what  creaking,  what  fall  of  ropes  and 
iron,  what  sharp  oaths,  low  laughs,  whispers,  sobs.  But  I 

75  was  cool,  high,  separate.     To  me  it  was 

"  A  painted  ship 
Upon  a  painted  ocean." 


Evils  of  Party  Spirit 
(From  The  Public  Duty  of  Educated  Men) 

Undoubtedly  a  practical  and  active  interest  in  politics 
will  lead  you  to  party  association  and  co-operation.  Great 
public  results  —  the  repeal  of  the  corn  laws  in  England,  the 
abolition  of  slavery  in  America  —  are  due  to  that  organi- 

5  zation  of  effort  and  concentration  of  aim  which  arouse,  in 
struct,  and  inspire  the  popular  heart  and  will.  This  is 
the  spring  of  party,  and  those  who  earnestly  seek  practical 
results  instinctively  turn  to  this  agency  of  united  action. 
But  in  this  tendency,  useful  in  the  state  as  the  fire  upon 

10  the  household  hearth,  lurks,  as  in  that  fire,  the  deadliest 
peril.  Here  is  our  republic  —  it  is  a  ship  with  towering 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS  287 

canvas  spread,  sweeping  before  the  prosperous  gale  over  a 
foaming  and  sparkling  sea;  it  is  a  lightning  train,  darting 
with  awful  speed  along  the  edge  of  dizzy  abysses  and  across 
bridges  that  quiver  over  unsounded  gulfs.  Because  we  are  15 
Americans,  we  have  no  peculiar  charm,  no  magic  spell,  to 
stay  the  eternal  laws.  Our  safety  lies  alone  in  cool  self- 
possession,  directing  the  forces  of  wind  and  wave  and  fire. 
If  once  the  madness  to  which  the  excitement  tends  usurps 
control,  the  catastrophe  is  inevitable.  And  so  deep  is  the  20 
conviction  that  sooner  or  later  this  madness  must  seize 
every  republic,  that  the  most  plausible  suspicion  of  the 
permanence  of  the  American  government  is  founded  in  the 
belief  that  party  spirit  cannot  be  restrained.  It  is  indeed  a 
master  passion,  but  its  control  is  the  true  conservatism  of  25 
the  republic  and  of  happy  human  progress ;  and  it  is  men 
made  familar  by  education  with  the  history  of  its  ghastly 
catastrophes,  men  with  the  proud  courage  of  independence, 
who  are  to  temper  by  lofty  action,  born  of  that  knowledge, 
the  ferocity  of  party  spirit.  30 

The  first  object  of  concerted  political  action  is  the  highest 
welfare  of  the  country.  But  the  conditions  of  party  associa 
tion  are  such  that  the  means  are  constantly  and  easily  sub 
stituted  for  the  end.  The  sophistry  is  subtle  and  seductive. 
Holding  the  ascendency  of  his  party  essential  to  the  national  35 
welfare,  the  zealous  partisan  merges  patriotism  in  party. 
He  insists  that  'not  to  sustain  the  party  is  to  betray  the 
country,  and  against  all  honest  doubt  and  reasonable 
hesitation  and  reluctance,  he  vehemently  urges  that  quibbles 
of  conscience  must  be  sacrificed  to  the  public  good;  that 40 
wise  and  practical  men  will  not  be  squeamish;  that  every 
soldier  in  the  army  cannot  indulge  his  own  whims  ;  and 
that  if  the  majority  may  justly  prevail  in  determining  the 
government,  it  must  not  be  questioned  in  the  control  of  a 
party.  45 


288  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

This  spirit  adds  moral  coercion  to  sophistry.  It  de 
nounces  as  a  traitor  him  who  protests  against  party  tyranny, 
and  it  makes  unflinching  adherence  to  what  is  called  regular 
party  action  the  condition  of  the  gratification  of  honorable 

60  political  ambition.  Because  a  man  who  sympathizes  with 
the  party  aims  refuses  to  vote  for  a  thief,  this  spirit  scorns 
him  as  a  rat  and  a  renegade.  Because  he  holds  to  principle 
and  law  against  party  expediency  and  dictation,  he  is  pro 
claimed  to  have  betrayed  his  country,  justice,  and  humanity. 

55  Because  he  tranquilly  insists  upon  deciding  for  himself 
when  he  must  dissent  from  his  party,  he  is  reviled  as  a 
popinjay  and  a  visionary  fool.  Seeking  with  honest  pur 
pose  only  the  welfare  of  his  country,  the  hot  air  around  him 
hums  with  the  cry  of  "  the  grand  old  party,"  "  the  traditions 

60  of  the  party,"  "  loyalty  to  the  party,"  "  future  of  the  party," 
"  servant  of  the  party,"  and  he  sees  and  hears  the  gorged  and 
portly  money-changers  in  the  temple  usurping  the  very  di 
vinity  of  the  God.  Young  hearts!  be  not  dismayed.  If 
ever  any  one  of  you  shall  be  the  man  so  denounced,  do  not 

65  forget  that  your  own  individual  convictions  are  the  whip  of 
small  cords  which  God  has  put  into  your  hands  to  expel  the 
blasphemers. 

The  same  party  spirit  naturally  denies  the  patriotism  of 
its  opponents.  Identifying  itself  with  the  country,  it  re- 

70gards  all  others  as  public  enemies.  This  is  substantially 
revolutionary  politics.  It  is  the  condition  of  France,  where, 
in  its  own  words,  the  revolution  is  permanent.  Instead  of 
regarding  the  other  party  as  legitimate  opponents  —  in  the 
English  phrase,  His  Majesty's  Opposition  —  lawfully  seek- 

75  ing  a  different  policy  under  the  government,  it  decries  that 
party  as  a  conspiracy  plotting  the  overthrow  of  the  govern 
ment  itself.  History  is  lurid  with  the  wasting  fires  of  this 
madness.  We  need  not  look  to  that  of  other  lands.  Our 
own  is  full  of  it.  It  is  painful  to  turn  to  the  opening  years 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS  289 

of  the  Union,  and  see  how  the  great  men  whom  we  are  80 
taught  to  revere,  and  to  whose  fostering  care  the  beginning 
of  the  republic  was  intrusted,  fanned  their  hatred  and  sus 
picion  of  each  other.     Do  not  trust  the  flattering  voices  that 
whisper  of  a  Golden  Age  behind  us,  and  bemoan  our  own 
as  a  degenerate  day.     The  castles  of  hope   always  shine  85 
along  the  horizon.     Our  fathers  saw  theirs  where  we  are 
standing.     We  behold  ours  where  our  fathers  stood.     But 
pensive  regret  for  the  heroic  past,  like  eager  anticipation  of 
the  future,  shows  only  that  the  vision  of  a  loftier  life  for 
ever  allures  the  human  soul.     We  think  our  fathers  to  have  90 
been  wiser  than  we,  and  their  day   more   enviable.     But 
eighty  years  ago  the  Federalists  abhorred  their  opponents 
as  Jacobins,  and  thought  Robespierre  and  Marat  no  worse 
than  Washington's  Secretary  of  State.     The  opponents  re 
torted  that  the  Federalists  were   plotting   to   establish   a  95 
monarchy  by  force   of   arms.     The  New   England   pulpit 
anathematized  Tom  Jefferson  as  an  atheist  and  a   satyr. 
Jefferson  denounced  John  Jay  as  a  rogue,  and  the  chief 
newspaper  of  the  opposition,  on  the  morning  that  Washing 
ton  retired  from  the   presidency,   thanked   God   that   the  100 
country  was  now  rid  of  the  man  who  was  the  source  of  all 
its  misfortunes.     There  is  no  mire  in  which  party  spirit 
wallows  to-day  with  which  our  fathers  were  not  befouled, 
and  how  little  sincere  the  vituperation  was,  how  shallow  a 
fury,  appears  when  Jefferson  and  Adams  had  retired  from  105 
public  life.     Then  they  corresponded  placidly  and   famil 
iarly,  each  at  last  conscious  of  the  other's  fervent  patriotism  ; 
and  when  they  died,   they  were  lamented  in  common  by 
those  who  in  their  names  had  flown  at  each  other's  throats, 
as  the  patriarchal  Castor  and  Pollux  of.  the  pure   age  of  110 
our  politics,  now  fixed  as  a  constellation  of  hope  in  our 
heaven. 

The  same  brutal  spirit  showed  itself  at  the  time  of  An- 


290  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

drew  Johnson's  impeachment.     Impeachment  is  a  proceed- 

115  ing  to  be  instituted  only  for  great  public  reasons,  which 
should,  presumptively,  command  universal  support.  To 
prostitute  the  power  of  impeachment  to  a  mere  party  pur 
pose  would  readily  lead  to  the  reversal  of  the  result  of  an 
election.  But  it  was  made  a  party  measure.  The  party 

120  was  to  be  whipped  into  its  support :  and  when  certain  Sen 
ators  broke  the  party  yoke  upon  their  necks,  and  voted 
according  to  their  convictions,  as  honorable  men  always 
will,  whether  the  -party  whips  like  it  or  not,  one  of  the 
whippers-in  exclaimed  of  a  patriotism,  the  struggle  of  obe- 

I25dience  to  which  cost  one  Senator,  at  least,  his  life  —  "If 
there  is  anything  worse  than  the  treachery,  it  is  the  cant 
which  pretends  that  it  is  the  result  of  conscientious  convic 
tion;  the  pretense  of  a  conscience  is  quite  unbearable." 
This  was  the  very  acridity  of  bigotry,  which  in  other  times 

130  and  countries  raised  the  cruel  tribunal  of  the  Inquisition, 
and  burned  opponents  for  the  glory  of  God.  The  party 
madness  that  dictated  these  words,  and  the  sympathy  that 
approved  them,  was  treason  not  alone  to  the  country  but 
to  well-ordered  human  society.  Murder  may  destroy  great 

135  statesmen,  but  corruption  makes  great  states  impossible ; 
and  this  was  an  attempt  at  the  most  insidious  corruption. 
The  man  who  attempts  to  terrify  a  Senator  of  the  United 
States  to  cast  a  dishonest  vote,  by  stigmatizing  him  as  a 
hypocrite  and  devoting  him  to  party  hatred,  is  only  a  more 

140  plausible  rascal  than  his  opponent  who  gives  Pat  O'Flana- 
gan  a  fraudulent  naturalization  paper  or  buys  his  vote  with  a 
dollar  or  a  glass  of  whisky.  Whatever  the  offenses  of  the 
President  may  have  been,  they  were  as  nothing  when  com 
pared  with  the  party  spirit  which  declared  that  it  was  tired 

145  of  the  intolerable  cant  of  honesty.  So  the  sneering  Cavalier 
was  tired  of  the  cant  of  the  Puritan  conscience;  but  the 
conscience  of  which  plumed  Injustice  and  coroneted  Privi- 


JOHN   GREENLEAF  WHITTIER  291 

lege  were  tired  has  been  for  three  centuries  the  invincible 
bodyguard  of  civil  and  religious  liberty. 


JOHN   GREENLEAF   WHITTIER 
To  William  Lloyd  Garrison 

Champion  of  those  who  groan  beneath 

Oppression's  iron  hand : 
In  view  of  penury,  hate,  and  death, 

I  see  thee  fearless  stand. 
Still  bearing  up  thy  lofty  brow,  5 

In  the  steadfast  strength  of  truth, 
In  manhood  sealing  well  the  vow 

And  promise  of  thy  youth. 

Go  on,  for  thou  hast  chosen  well ; 

On  in  the  strength  of  God!  10 

Long  as  one  human  heart  shall  swell 

Beneath  the  tyrant's  rod. 
Speak  in  a  slumbering  nation's  ear, 

As  thou  hast  ever  spoken, 
Until  the  dead  in  sin  shall  hear,  15 

The  fetter's  link  be  broken  ! 

I  love  thee  with  a  brother's  love, 

I  feel  my  pulses  thrill, 
To  mark  thy  spirit  soar  above 

The  cloud  of  human  ill.  20 

My  heart  hath  leaped  to  answer  thine, 

And  echo  back  thy  words, 
As  leaps  the  warrior's  at  the  shine 

And  flash  of  kindred  swords  I 

They  tell  me  thou  art  rash  and  vain,  25 

A  searcher  after  fame ; 
That  thou  art  striving  but  to  gain 

A  long -enduring  name; 


292  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

That  thou  hast  nerved  the  Afric's  hand 
30  And  steeled  the  Afric's  heart, 

To  shake  aloft  his  vengeful  brand, 
And  rend  his  chain  apart. 

Have  I  not  known  thee  well,  and  read 

Thy  mighty  purpose  long  ? 
35  And  watched  the  trials  which  have  made 

Thy  human  spirit  strong  ? 
And  shall  the  slanderer's  demon  breath 

Avail  with  one  like  me, 
To  dim  the  sunshine  of  my  faith 
40  And  earnest  trust  in  thee  ? 

Go  on,  the  dagger's  point  may  glare 

Amid  thy  pathway's  gloom  ; 
The  fate  which  sternly  threatens  there 

Is  glorious  martyrdom ! 
45  Then  onward  with  a  martyr's  zeal ; 

And  wait  thy  sure  reward 
When  man  to  man  no  more  shall  kneel, 

And  God  alone  be  Lord  I 


Proem 

I  love  the  old  melodious  lays 
Which  softly  melt  the  ages  through, 
The  songs  of  Spenser's  golden  days, 
Arcadian  Sidney's  silvery  phrase, 
6         Sprinkling  our  noon  of  time  with  freshest  morning  dew. 

Yet,  vainly  in  my  quiet  hours 
To  breath  their  marvellous  notes  I  try ; 
I  feel  them,  as  the  leaves  and  flowers 
In  silence  feel  the  dewy  showers, 
10         And  drink  with  glad,  still  lips  the  blessing  of  the  sky. 


JOHN   GREENLEAF  WHITTIER  293 

The  rigor  of  a  frozen  clime, 
The  harshness  of  an  untaught  ear, 

The  jarring  words  of  one  whose  rhyme 

Beat  often  Labor's  hurried  time, 
Or  Duty's  rugged  march  through  storm  and  strife,  are  here.  15 

Of  mystic  beauty,  dreamy  grace, 
No  rounded  art  the  lack  supplies ; 

Unskilled  the  subtle  lines  to  trace, 

Or  softer  shades  of  Nature's  face, 
I  view  her  common  forms  with  unanoiuted  eyes.  20 

Nor  mine  the  seer-like  power  to  show 
The  secrets  of  the  heart  and  mind  ; 

To  drop  the  plummet-line  below 

Our  common  world  of  joy  and  woe, 
A  more  intense  despair  or  brighter  hope  to  find.  25 

Yet  here  at  least  an  earnest  sense 
Of  human  right  and  weal  is  shown; 

A  hate  of  tyranny  intense, 

And  hearty  in  its  vehemence, 
As  if  my  brother's  pain  and  sorrow  were  my  own.  30 

O  Freedom  !  if  to  me  belong 
Nor  mighty  Milton's  gift  divine, 

Nor  MarvelPs  wit  and  graceful  song, 

Still  with  a  love  as  deep  and  strong 
As  theirs,  I  lay,  like  them,  my  best  gifts  on  thy  shrine !  35 


Ichabod 

So  fallen  !  so  lost !  the  light  withdrawn 

Which  once  he  wore  ! 
The  glory  from  his  gray  hairs  gone 

Fore  verm  ore ! 


294  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

5  Revile  him  not,  the  Tempter  hath 

A  snare  for  all ; 

And  pitying  tears,  not  scorn  and  wrath, 
Befit  his  fall ! 

Oh,  dumb  be  passion's  stormy  rage, 
10  When  he  who  might 

Have  lighted  up  and  led  his  age, 
Falls  back  in  night. 

Scorn  1  would  the  angels  laugh,  to  mark 

A  bright  soul  driven, 

15  Fiend-goaded,  down  the  endless  dark, 

From  hope  and  heaven  ! 

Let  not  the  land  once  proud  of  him 

Insult  him  now, 

Nor  brand  with  deeper  shame  his  dim, 
20  Dishonored  brow. 

But  let  its  humbled  sons,  instead, 

From  sea  to  lake, 
A  long  lament,  as  for  the  dead, 

In  sadness  make. 

25  Of  all  we  loved  and  honored,  naught 

Save  power  remains ; 
A  fallen  angel's  pride  of  thought, 
Still  strong  in  chains. 

All  else  is  gone ;  from  those  great  eyes 
30  The  soul  has  fled : 

When  faith  is  lost,  when  honor  dies, 
The  man  is  dead  ! 

Then  pay  the  reverence  of  old  days 

To  his  dead  fame  ; 

35  Walk  backward,  with  averted  gaze, 

And  hide  the  shame! 


JOHN   GREENLEAF  WHITTIER  295 


Skipper  Ireson's  Ride 

Of  all  the  rides  since  the  birth  of  time, 

Told  in  story  or  sung  in  rhyme,  — 

On  Apuleius's  Golden  Ass, 

Or  one-eyed  Calender's  horse  of  brass, 

Witch  astride  of  a  human  back,  5 

Islam's  prophet  on  Al-Borak,  — 

The  strangest  ride  that  ever  was  sped 

Was  Ireson's,  out  from  Marblehead ! 

Old  Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart, 

Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart  10 

By  the  women  of  Marblehead  ! 

Body  of  turkey,  head  of  owl, 

Wings  a-droop  like  a  rained-on  fowl, 

Feathered  and  ruffled  in  every  part, 

Skipper  Ireson  stood  in  the  cart.  15 

Scores  of  women,  old  and  young, 

Strong  of  muscle,  and  glib  of  tongue, 

Pushed  and  pulled  up  the  rocky  lane, 

Shouting  and  singing  the  shrill  refrain : 

'Here's  Flud  Oirson,  fur  his  horrd  horrt,  20 

Torr'd  an'  futherr'd  an'  corr'd  in  a  corrt 
By  the  women  o'  Morble'ead ! ' 

Wrinkled  scolds  with  hands  on  hips, 

Girls  in  bloom  of  cheek  and  lips, 

Wild-eyed,  and  free-limbed,  such  as  chase  25 

Bacchus  round  some  antique  vase, 

Brief  of  skirt,  with  ankles  bare, 

Loose  of  kerchief  and  loose  of  hair, 

With  conch-shells  blowing  and  fish-horns'  twang, 

Over  and  over  the  Maenads  sang  :  30 

'  Here's    Flud  Oirson,  fur  his  horrd  horrt, 

Torr'd  an'  futherr'd  an*  corr'd  in  a  corrt 
By  the  women  o'  Morble'ead  ! ' 


296  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Small  pity  for  him  !  —  He  sailed  away 
35  From  a  leaking  ship  in  Chaleur  Bay,  — 

Sailed  away  from  a  sinking  wreck, 
With  his  own  town's-people  on  her  deck ! 
'  Lay  by !  lay  by  ! '  they  called  to  him. 
Back  he  answered,  '  Sink  or  swim  ! 
40  Brag  of  your  catch  of  fish  again  ! ' 

And  off  he  sailed  through  the  fog  and  rain  ! 
Old  Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart, 
Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
By  the  women  of  Marblehead ! 


46  Fathoms  deep  in  dark  Chaleur 

That  wreck  shall  lie  forevermore. 
Mother  and  sister,  wife  and  maid, 
Looked  from  the  rocks  of  Marblehead 
Over  the  moaning  and  rainy  sea,  — 

60  Looked  for  the  coming  that  might  not  be  ! 

What  did  the  winds  and  the  sea-birds  say 
Of  the  cruel  captain  who  sailed  away  ?  — 
Old  Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart, 
Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 

55  By  the  women  of  Marblehead ! 


Through  the  street,  on  either  side, 
Up  flew  windows,  doors  swung  wide  ; 
Sharp-tongued  spinsters,  old  wives  gray, 
Treble  lent  the  fish-horn's  bray. 

60  Sea-worn  grandsires,  cripple-bound, 

Hulks  of  old  sailors  run  aground, 
Shook  head,  and  fist,  and  hat,  and  cane, 
And  cracked  with  curses  the  hoarse  refrain : 
1  Here's  Flud  Oirson,  fur  his  horrd  horrt, 

65  Torr'd  an'  futherr'd  an'  corr'd  in  a  corrt 

By  the  women  o'  Morble'ead ! ' 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER  297 

Sweetly  along  the  Salem  road 

Bloom  of  orchard  and  lilac  showed. 

Little  the  wicked  skipper  knew 

Of  the  fields  so  green  and  the  sky  so  blue.  70 

Riding  there  in  his  sorry  trim, 

Like  an  Indian  idol  glum  and  grim, 

Scarcely  he  seemed  the  sound  to  hear 

Of  voices  shouting,  far  and  near : 

*  Here's  Flud  Oirson,  fur  his  horrd  horrt,  75 

Torr'd  an1  f  utherr'd  an'  corr'd  in  a  corrt 
By  the  women  o'  Morble'ead ! ' 


*  Hear  me,  neighbors ! '  at  last  he  cried, — 

*  What  to  me  is  this  noisy  ride  ? 

What  is  the  shame  that  clothes  the  skin  8° 

To  the  nameless  horror  that  lives  within  ? 

Waking  or  sleeping,  I  see  a  wreck, 

And  hear  a  cry  from  a  reeling  deck  ! 

Hate  me  and  curse  me,  —  I  only  dread 

The  hand  of  God  and  the  face  of  the  dead  ! '  86 

Said  old  Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart, 

Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
By  the  women  of  Marblehead  1 


Then  the  wife  of  the  skipper  lost  at  sea 

Said,  *  God  has  touched  him  !  why  should  we !  *  90 

Said  an  old  wife  mourning  her  only  son, 

'  Cut  the  rogue's  tether  and  let  him  run  ! ' 

So  with  soft  relentings  and  rude  excuse, 

Half  scorn,  half  pity,  they  cut  him  loose, 

And  gave  him  a  cloak  to  hide  him  in,  95 

And  left  him  alone  with  his  shame  and  sin. 

Poor  Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart, 

Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
By  the  women  of  Marblehead ! 


298  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

My  Playmate 

The  pines  were  dark  on  Ramoth  hill, 
Their  song  was  soft  and  low ; 

The  blossoms  in  the  sweet  May  wind 
Were  falling  like  the  snow. 

5  The  blossoms  drifted  at  our  feet, 

The  orchard  birds  sang  clear ; 
The  sweetest  and  the  saddest  day 
It  seemed  of  all  the  year. 

For,  more  to  me  than  birds  or  flowers, 
10  My  playmate  left  her  home, 

And  took  with  her  the  laughing  spring, 
The  music  and  the  bloom. 

She  kissed  the  lips  of  kith  and  kin, 

She  laid  her  hand  in  mine : 

15  What  more  could  ask  the  bashful  boy 

Who  fed  her  father's  kine? 

She  left  us  in  the  bloom  of  May : 

The  constant  years  told  o'er 
Their  seasons  with  as  sweet  May  morns, 
20  But  she  came  back  no  more. 

I  walk,  with  noiseless  feet,  the  round 

Of  uneventful  years ; 
Still  o'er  and  o'er  I  sow  the  spring 

And  reap  the  autumn  ears. 

25  She  lives  where  all  the  golden  year 

Her  summer  roses  blow; 
The  dusky  children  of  the  sun 
Before  her  come  and  go. 

There  haply  with  her  jewelled  hands 
30  She  smooths  her  silken  gown, — 

No  more  the  homespun  lap  wherein 
I  shook  the  walnuts  down. 


JOHN   GREENLEAF  WHITTIER  299 

The  wild  grapes  wait  us  by  the  brook, 

The  brown  nuts  on  the  hill, 
And  still  the  May-day  flowers  make  sweet  35 

The  woods  of  Follymill. 

The  lilies  blossom  in  the  pond, 

The  bird  builds  in  the  tree, 
The  dark  pines  sing  on  Ramoth  hill 

The  slow  song  of  the  sea.  40 

I  wonder  if  she  thinks  of  them, 

And  how  the  old  time  seems,  — 
If  ever  the  pines  of  Ramoth  wood 

Are  sounding  in  her  dreams. 

I  see  her  face,  I  hear  her  voice ;  45 

Does  she  remember  mine  ? 
And  what  to  her  is  now  the  boy 

Who  fed  her  father's  kine  ? 

What  cares  she  that  the  orioles  build 

For  other  eyes  than  ours,  —  50 

That  other  hands  with  nuts  are  filled, 

And  other  laps  with  flowers  ? 

O  playmate  in  the  golden  time  ! 

Our  mossy  seat  is  green, 
Its  fringing  violets  blossom  yet,  55 

The  old  trees  o'er  it  lean. 

The  winds  so  sweet  with  birch  and  fern 

A  sweeter  memory  blow; 
And  there  in  spring  the  veeries  sing 

The  song  of  long  ago.  60 

And  still  the  pines  of  Ramoth  wood 

Are  moaning  like  the  sea,  — 
The  moaning  of  the  sea  of  change 

Between  myself  and  thee  ! 


300  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Laus  Deol 

It  is  done ! 

Clang  of  bell  and  roar  of  gun 
Send  the  tidings  up  and  down. 

How  the  belfries  rock  and  reel  f 

6  How  the  great  guns,  peal  on  peal,, 

Fling  the  joy  from  town  to  town  1 

Ring,  O  bells ! 
Every  stroke  exulting  tells 
Of  the  burial  hour  of  crime. 
10  Loud  and  long,  that  all  may  hear,, 

Ring  for  every  listening  ear 
Of  Eternity  and  Time ! 

Let  us  kneel : 

God's  own  voice  is  in  that  pealr 
15  And  this  spot  is  holy  ground. 

Lord,  forgive  us  1     What  are  we,. 
That  our  eyes  this  glory  see, 
That  our  ears  have  heard  the  sound  !< 

For  the  Lord 
20  On  the  whirlwind  is  abroad ; 

In  the  earthquake  He  has  spoken ;. 
He  has  smitten  with  his  thunder 
The  iron  walls  asunder, 
And  the  gates  of  brass  are  broken !-. 

25  Loud  and  long 

Lift  the  old  exulting  song ; 
Sing  with  Miriam  by  the  sea, 
He  has  cast  the  mighty  down ; 
Horse  and  rider  sink  and  drown  ^ 

30  *  He  hath  triumphed  gloriously !  * 


JOHN   GREENLEAF  WHITTIER  301 

Did  we  dare, 

In  our  agony  of  prayer, 
Ask  for  more  than  He  has  done? 

When  was  ever  his  right  hand 

Over  any  time  or  land  36 

Stretched  as  now  beneath  the  sun  ? 

How  they  pale, 

Ancient  myth  and  song  and  tale, 
In  this  wonder  of  our  days, 

When  the  cruel  rod  of  war  40 

Blossoms  white  with  righteous  law, 
And  the  wrath  of  man  is  praise  I 

Blotted  out ! 

All  within  and  all  about 
Shall  a  fresher  life  begin ;  45 

Freer  breathe  the  universe 

As  it  rolls  its  heavy  curse 
On  the  dead  and  buried  sin  1 

It  is  done ! 

In  the  circuit  of  the  sun  50 

Shall  the  sound  thereof  go  forth. 

It  shall  bid  the  sad  rejoice, 

It  shall  give  the  dumb  a  voice, 
It  shall  belt  with  joy  the  earth  1 

Ring  and  swing,  55 

Bells  of  joy  !     On  morning's  wing 
Send  the  song  of  praise  abroad ! 

With  a  sound  of  broken  chains 

Tell  the  nations  that  He  reigns, 
Who  alone  is  Lord  and  God !  QQ 


302  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

In  School-days 

Still  sits  the  school -house  by  the  road, 
A  ragged  beggar  sleeping ; 

Around  it  still  the  sumachs  grow, 
And  blackberry-vines  are  creeping. 

5  Within,  the  master's  desk  is  seen, 

Deep  scarred  by  raps  official ; 
The  warping  floor,  the  battered  seats, 
The  jack-knife's  carved  initial ; 

The  charcoal  frescoes  on  its  wall ; 
10  Its  door's  worn  sill,  betraying 

The  feet  that,  creeping  slow  to  school, 
Went  storming  out  to  playing! 

Long  years  ago  a  winter  sun 

Shone  over  it  at  setting; 

15  Lit  up  its  western  window-panes, 

And  low  eaves'  icy  fretting. 

It  touched  the  tangled  golden  curls, 
And  brown  eyes  full  of  grieving, 
Of  one  who  still  her  steps  delayed 
20  When  all  the  school  were  leaving. 

For  near  her  stood  the  little  boy 
Her  childish  favor  singled  : 

His  cap  pulled  low  upon  a  face 

Where  pride  and  shame  were  mingled, 

25  Pushing  with  restless  feet  the  snow 

To  right  and  left,  he  lingered ;  — 
As  restlessly  her  tiny  hands 

The  blue-checked  apron  fingered. 

He  saw  her  lift  her  eyes ;  he  felt 
30  The  soft  hand's  light  caressing, 

And  heard  the  tremble  of  her  voice, 
As  if  a  fault  confessing. 


JOHN   GREENLEAF   WHITTIER  303 

*  I'm  sorry  that  I  spelt  the  word : 

I  hate  to  go  above  you, 
Because,'  —  the  brown  eyes  lower  fell,  —  35 

*  Because,  you  see,  I  love  you !  ' 

Still  memory  to  a  gray-haired  man 

That  sweet  child-face  is  showing. 
Dear  girl !  the  grasses  on  her  grave 

Have  forty  years  been  growing !  40 

He  lives  to  learn,  in  life's  hard  school, 

How  few  who  pass  above  him 
Lament  their  triumph  and  his  loss, 

Like  her,  —  because  they  love  him. 


The  Lost  Occasion 

Some  die  too  late  and  some  too  soon, 

At  early  morning,  heat  of  noon, 

Or  the  chill  evening  twilight.     Thou, 

Whom  the  rich  heavens  did  so  endow 

With  eyes  of  power  and  Jove's  own  brow,  5 

With  all  the  massive  strength  that  fills 

Thy  home-horizon's  granite  hills, 

With  rarest  gifts  of  heart  and  head 

From  manliest  stock  inherited, 

New  England's  stateliest  type  of  man,  10 

In  port  and  speech  Olympian  ; 

Whom  no  one  met,  at  first,  but  took 

A  second  awed  and  wondering  look 

(As  turned,  perchance,  the  eyes  of  Greece 

On  Phidias'  unveiled  masterpiece)  ;  15 

Whose  words  in  simplest  homespun  clad, 

The  Saxon  strength  of  Csedmon's  had, 

With  power  reserved  at  need  to  reach 

The  Roman  forum's  loftiest  speech, 

Sweet  with  persuasion,  eloquent  20 

In  passion,  cool  in  argument, 


304  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

Or,  ponderous,  falling  on  thy  foes 

As  fell  the  Norse  god's  hammer  blows, 

Crushing  as  if  with  Talus'  flail 

25  Through  Error's  logic-woven  mail, 

And  failing  only  when  they  tried 
The  adamant  of  the  righteous  side,  — 
Thou,  foiled  in  aim  and  hope,  bereaved 
Of  old  friends,  by  the  new  deceived, 

30  Too  soon  for  us,  too  soon  for  thee, 

Beside  thy  lonely  Northern  sea, 
Where  long  and  low  the  marsh-lands  spread, 
Laid  wearily  down  thy  august  head. 

Thou  shouldst  have  lived  to  feel  below 

35  Thy  feet  Disunion's  fierce  upthrow  ; 

The  late-sprung  mine  that  underlaid 
Thy  sad  concessions  vainly  made. 
Thou  shouldst  have  seen  from  Sumter's  wall 
The  star-flag  of  the  Union  fall, 

40  And  armed  rebellion  pressing  on 

The  broken  lines  of  Washington ! 
No  stronger  voice  than  thine  had  then 
Called  out  the  utmost  might  of  men, 
To  make  the  Union's  charter  free 

45  And  strengthen  law  by  liberty. 

How  had  that  stern  arbitrament 
To  thy  gray  age  youth's  vigor  lent, 
Shaming  ambition's  paltry  prize 
Before  thy  disillusioned  eyes  ; 

50  Breaking  the  spell  about  thee  wound 

Like  the  green  withes  that  Samson  bound ; 
Redeeming  in  one  effort  grand, 
Thyself  and  thy  imperilled  land ! 
Ah,  cruel  fate,  that  closed  to  thee, 

55  O  sleeper  by  the  Northern  sea, 

The  gates  of  opportunity  1 
God  fills  the  gaps  of  human  need, 
Each  crisis  brings  its  word  and  deed. 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER  305 

Wise  men  and  strong  we  did  not  lack ; 

But  still,  with  memory  turning  back,  60 

In  the  dark  hours  we  thought  of  thee, 

And  thy  lone  grave  beside  the  sea. 

Above  that  grave  the  east  winds  blow, 

And  from  the  marsh-lands  drifting  slow 

The  sea-fog  comes,  with  evermore  65 

The  wave-wash  of  a  lonely  shore, 

And  sea-bird's  melancholy  cry, 

As  Nature  fain  would  typify 

The  sadness  of  a  closing  scene, 

The  loss  of  that  which  should  have  been.  70 

But,  where  thy  native  mountains  bare 

Their  foreheads  to  diviner  air, 

Fit  emblem  of  enduring  fame, 

One  lofty  summit  keeps  thy  name. 

For  thee  the  cosmic  forces  did  75 

The  rearing  of  that  pyramid, 

The  prescient  ages  shaping  with 

Fire,  flood,  and  frost  thy  monolith. 

Sunrise  and  sunset  lay  thereon 

With  hands  of  light  their  benison,  80 

The  stars  of  midnight  pause  to  set 

Their  jewels  in  its  coronet. 

And  evermore  that  mountain  mass 

Seems  climbing  from  the  shadowy  pass 

To  light,  as  if  to  manifest  85 

Thy  nobler  self,  thy  life  at  best ! 


306  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

WALT  WHITMAN  * 

A  Child's  Question 
(From  Song  of  Myself) 

A  child  said  What  is  the  grass?  fetching  it  to  me  with  full  hands; 
How  could  I  answer  the  child  ?    I  do  not  know  what  it  is  any  more 
than  he. 

I  guess  it  must  be  the  flag  of  my  disposition,  out  of  hopeful  green 
stuff  woven. 

Or  I  guess  it  is  the  handkerchief  of  the  Lord, 
5  A  scented  gift  and  remembrancer  designedly  dropt, 
Bearing  the  owner's  name  someway  in  the  corners,  that  we  may 
see  and  remark,  and  say  Whose  ? 

Or  I  guess  the  grass  is  itself  a  child,  the  produced  babe  of  the 
vegetation. 

Or  I  guess  it  is  a  uniform  hieroglyphic, 

And  it  means,  Sprouting  alike  in  broad  zones  and  narrow  zones, 
10  Growing  among  black  folks  as  among  white, 

Kanuck,  Tuckahoe,  Congressman,  Cuff,  I  give  them  the  same,  I 
receive  them  the  same. 

And  now  it  seems  to  me  the  beautiful  uncut  hair  of  graves. 

Tenderly  will  I  use  you  curling  grass, 
It  may  be  you  transpire  from  the  breasts  of  young  men, 
15  It  may  be  if  I  had  known  them  I  would  have  loved  them, 

It  may  be  you  are  from  old  people,  or  from  offspring  taken  soon 

out  of  their  mothers'  laps, 
And  here  you  are  the  mothers'  laps. 

1  The  poems  of  Walt  Whitman  here  printed  are  used  by  permission  of 
Messrs.  Horace  Traubel  and  Thomas  B.  Harned,  the  poet's  executors. 
Small,  Maynard  &  Company  are  the  authorized  publishers  of  Whitman's 
works. 


WALT  WHITMAN  307 

This  grass  is  very  dark  to  be  from  the  white  heads  of  old  mothers, 

Darker  than  the  colorless  beards  of  old  men, 

Dark  to  come  t'rom  under  the  faint  red  roofs  of  mouths.  20 

0  I  perceive  after  all  so  many  uttering  tongues, 

And  I  perceive  they  do  not  not  come  from  the  roofs  of  mouths  for 
nothing. 

1  wish  I  could  translate  the  hints  about  the  dead  young  men  and 
women, 

And  the  hints  about  old  men  and  mothers,  and  the  offspring  taken 
soon  out  of  their  laps. 

What  do  you  think  has  become  of  the  young  and  old  men  ?  25 

And  what  do  you  think  has  become  of  the  women  and  children  V 

They  are  alive  and  well  somewhere, 

The  smallest  sprout  shows  there  is  really  no  death, 

And  if  ever  there  was  it  led  forward  life,  and  does  not  wait  at  the 

end  to  arrest  it, 
And  ceas'd  the  moment  life  appear'd.  30 

All  goes  onward  and  outward,  nothing  collapses, 

And  to  die  is  different  from  what  any  one  supposed,  and  luckier. 


Mannahatta 

I  was  asking  for  something  specific  and  perfect  for  my  city, 
Whereupon  lo  !  upsprang  the  aboriginal  name. 

Now  I  see  what  there  is  in  a  name,  a  word,  liquid,  sane,  unruly, 

musical,  self-sufficient, 

I  see  that  the  word  of  my  city  is  that  word  from  of  old, 
Because  I  see  that  word  nested  in  nests  of  water-bays,  superb,          5 
Rich,  hemm'd  thick  all  around  with  sailships  and  steamships,  an 

island  sixteen  miles  long,  solid-founded, 


308  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Numberless  crowded  streets,  high  growths  of  iron,  slender,  strong, 
light,  splendidly  uprising  toward  clear  skies, 

Tides  swift  and  ample,  well-loved  by  me,  toward  sundown, 

The  flowing  sea-currents,  the  little  islands,  larger  adjoining  islands, 

the  heights,  the  villas, 

10  The  countless  masts,  the  white  shore- steamers,  the  lighters,  the 
ferry-boats,  the  black  sea-steamers  well-model'd, 

The  down-town  streets,  the  jobbers'  houses  of  business,  the  house* 
of  business  of  the  ship-merchants  and  money-brokers,  the  river- 
streets, 

Immigrants  arriving,  fifteen  or  twenty  thousand  in  a  week, 

The  carts  hauling  goods,  the  manly  race  of  drivers  of  horses,  the 
brown-faced  sailors, 

The  summer  air,  the  bright  sun  shining,  and  the  sailing  clouds 

aloft, 

15  The  winter  snows,  the  sleigh-bells,  the  broken  ice  in  the  river, 
passing  along  up  or  down  with  the  flood-tide  or  ebb-tide. 

The  mechanics  of  the  city,  the  masters,  well-form'd,  beautiful-faced 
looking  you  straight  in  the  eyes, 

Trottoirs  throng'd,  vehicles,  Broadway,  the  women,  the  shops  and 
shows, 

A  million  people  —  manners  free  and  superb  —  open  voices  —  hos 
pitality —  the  most  courageous  and  friendly  young  men, 

City  of  hurried  and  sparkling  waters !  city  of  spires  and  masts  1 
20  City  nested  in  bays  !  my  city ! 


0  Captain  I    My  Captain! 

O  Captain  1  my  Captain  !  our  fearful  trip  is  done, 
The  ship  has  weather'd  every  rack,  the  prize  we  sought  is  won, 
The  port  is  near,  the  bells  I  hear,  the  people  all  exulting, 
While  follow  eyes  the  steady  keel,  the  vessel  grim  and  daring ; 
5         But  O  heart !  heart !  heart ! 

O  the  bleeding  drops  of  red, 

Where  on  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 


WALT  WHITMAN  309 

O  Captain  !  my  Captain  !  rise  up  and  hear  the  bells ; 

Rise  up  —  for  you  the  flag  is  flung  —  for  you  the  bugle  trills,  10 

For  you  bouquets   and  ribbon'd  wreaths  —  for  you  the  shores 

a-crowding, 

For  you  they  call,  the  swaying  mass,  their  eager  faces  turning ; 
Here  Captain !  dear  father  ! 
This  arm  beneath  your  head  ! 

It  is  some  dream  that  on  the  deck,  15 

You've  fallen  cold  and  dead. 


My  Captain  does  not  answer,  his  lips  are  pale  and  still, 
My  father  does  not  feel  my  arm,  he  has  no  pulse  nor  will. 
The  ship  is  anchor'd  safe  and  sound,  its  voyage  closed  and  done, 
From  fearful  trip  the  victor  ship  comes  in  with  object  won  ;  20 

Exult  O  shores,  and  ring  O  bells ! 
But  I  with  mournful  tread, 

Walk  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 


When  Lilacs  last  in  the  Dooryard  Bloom'd 

1 

When  lilacs  last  in  the  dooryard  bloom'd, 

And  the  great  star  early  droop'd  in  the  western  sky  in  the  night, 

I  mourn 'd,  and  yet  shall  mourn  with  ever-returning  spring. 

Ever-returning  spring,  trinity  sure  to  me  you  bring, 

Lilac  blooming  perennial  and  drooping  star  in  the  west,  5 

And  thought  of  him  I  love. 


O  powerful  western  fallen  star  ! 

O  shades  of  night  —  O  moody,  tearful  night ! 

O  great  star  disappear'd  —  O  the  black  murk  that  hides  the  star ! 

O  cruel  hands  that  hold  me  powerless  —  O  helpless  soul  of  me  !       10 

O  harsh  surrounding  cloud  that  will  not  free  my  soul. 


310  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

3 

In  the  dooryard  fronting  au  old  farm-house  near  the  white-wash'd 

palings, 
Stands  the  lilac-bush   tall-growing   with   heart-shaped   leaves   of 

rich  green, 
With  many  a  pointed  blossom  rising  delicate,  with  the  perfume 

strong  I  love, 

15  With  every  leaf  a  miracle  —  and  from  this  bush  in  the  dooryard, 
With  delicate -color'd  blossoms  and   heart-shaped  leaves  of   rich 

green, 
A  sprig  with  its  flower  I  break. 


In  the  swamp  in  secluded  recesses, 

A  shy  and  hidden  bird  is  warbling  a  song. 

20  Solitary  the  thrush, 

The  hermit  withdrawn  to  himself,  avoiding  the  settlements, 
Sings  by  himself  a  song. 

Song  of  the  bleeding  throat, 

Death's  outlet  song  of  life  (for  well  dear  brother  I  know, 
25  If  thou  wast  not  granted  to  sing  thou  would'st  surely  die.) 


Over  the  breast  of  the  spring,  the  land,  amid  cities, 

Amid  lanes  and  through  old  woods,  where  lately  the  violets  peep'd 

from  the  ground,  spotting  the  gray  debris, 
Amid  the  grass  in  the  fields  each  side  of  the  lanes,  passing  the 

endless  grass, 
Passing  the  yellow-spear'd  wheat,  every  grain  from  its  shroud  in 

the  dark-brown  fields  uprisen, 

30  Passing  the  apple-tree  blows  of  white  and  pink  in  the  orchards, 
Carrying  a  corpse  to  where  it  shall  rest  in  the  grave, 
Night  and  day  journeys  a  coffin. 


WALT  WHITMAN  311 

6 

Coffin  that  passes  through  lanes  and  streets, 

Through  day  and  night  with  the  great  cloud  darkening  the  land, 
With  the  pomp  of  the  inloop'd  flags  with  the  cities  draped  in  black,  35 
With  the  show  of  the  States  themselves  as  of  crape-veil'd  women 

standing, 

With  processions  long  and  winding  and  the  flambeaus  of  the  night, 
With  the  countless  torches  lit,  with  the  silent  sea  of  faces  and  the 

unbared  heads, 

WTith  the  waiting  depot,  the  arriving  coffin,  and  the  sombre  faces, 
With  dirges  through  the  night,  with  the  thousand  voices  rising 

strong  and  solemn,  40 

With  all  the  mournful  voices  of  the  dirges  pour'd  around  the 

coffin, 
The  dim-lit  churches  and  the  shuddering  organs  —  where  amid 

these  you  journey, 

With  the  tolling  tolling  bells'  perpetual  clang, 
Here,  coffin  that  slowly  passes, 
I  give  you  my  sprig  of  lilac.  46 


9 

Sing  on  there  in  the  swamp, 

0  singer  bashful  and  tender,  I  hear  your  notes,  I  hear  your  call, 

1  hear,  I  come  presently,  I  understand  you, 

But  a  moment  I  linger,  for  the  lustrous  star  has  detain'd  me, 

The  star  my  departing  comrade  holds  and  detains  me.  50 

10 

O  how  shall  I  warble  myself  for  the  dead  one  there  I  loved  ? 
And  how  shall  I  deck  my  song  for  the  large  sweet  soul  that  has 

gone  ? 
And  what  shall  my  perfume  be  for  the  grave  of  him  I  love  ? 

Sea-winds  blown  from  east  and  west, 

Blown  from  the  Eastern  sea  and  blown  from  the  Western  sea,  till 
there  on  the  prairies  meeting,  55 


312  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

These  and  with  these  and  the  breath  of  my  chant, 
I'll  perfume  the  grave  of  him  I  love. 


13 

Sing  on,  sing  on  you  gray-brown  bird, 

Sing  from  the  swamps,  the  recesses,  pour  your  chant  from  the 

bushes, 

60  Limitless  out  of  the  dusk,  out  of  the  cedars  and  pines. 
Sing  on  dearest  brother,  warble  your  reedy  song, 
Loud  human  song,  with  voice  of  uttermost  woe. 

O  liquid  and  free  and  tender ! 

O  wild  and  loose  to  my  soul  —  O  wondrous  singer ! 
65  You  only  I  hear  —  yet  the  star  holds  rne  (but  will  soon  depart), 
Yet  the  lilac  with  mastering  odor  holds  me. 

14 


From  deep  secluded  recesses, 

From  the  fragrant  cedars  and  the  ghostly  pines  so  still, 

Came  the  carol  of  the  bird. 

70  And  the  charm  of  the  carol  rapt  me, 

As  I  held  as  if  by  their  hands  my  comrades  in  the  night, 
And  the  voice  of  my  spirit  tallied  the  song  of  the  bird. 

Come  lovely  and  soothing  death, 

Undulate  round  the  world,  serenely  arriving,  arriving, 
75  In  the  day,  in  the  night,  to  all,  to  each, 
Sooner  or  later  delicate  death. 

Prais'd  be  the  fathomless  universe, 

For  life  and  joy,  and  for  objects  and  knowledge  curious, 
And  for  love,  sweet  love  —  but  praise  !  praise  I  praise  I 
80  For  the  sure-enwinding  arms  of  cool-enfolding  death. 


WALT  WHITMAN  313 

Dark  mother  always  gliding  near  with  soft  feet, 

Have  none  chanted  for  thee  a  chant  of  fullest  welcome? 

Then  I  chant  it  for  thee,  I  glorify  thee  above  all, 

I  bring  thee  a  song  that  when  thou  must  indeed  come,  come  unfalteringly. 

Approach  strong  deliveress,  85 

When  it  is  so,  when  thou  hast  taken  them  I  joyously  sing  the  dead, 
Lost  in  the  loving  floating  ocean  of  thee, 
Laved  in  the  flood  of  thy  bliss  O  death. 

From  me  to  thee  glad  serenades, 

Dances  for  thee  I  propose  saluting  thee,  adornments  and  f eastings  for 

thee,  90 

And  the  sights  of  the  open  landscape  and  the  high-spread  sky  are  fitting, 
And  life  and  the  fields,  and  the  huge  and  thoughtful  night. 

The  night  in  silence  under  many  a  star, 

The  ocean  shore  and  the  husky  whispering  wave  whose  voice  I  know, 
And  the  soul  turning  to  thee  0  vast  and  well-veiled  death,  95 

And  the  body  gratefully  nestling  close  to  thee.' 

Over  the  tree-tops  I  float  thee  a  song, 

Over  the  rising  and  sinking  waves,  over  the  myriad  fields  and  the 

prairies  wide, 

Over  the  dense-pack'd  cities  all  and  the  teeming  wharves  and  ways, 
I  float  this  carol  with  joy,  with  joy  to  thee  0  death.  100 


15 

To  the  tally  of  my  soul, 

Loud  and  strong  kept  up  the  gray-brown  bird, 

With  pure  deliberate  notes  spreading  filling  the  night. 

Loud  in  the  pines  and  cedars  dim, 

Clear  in  the  freshness  moist  and  the  swamp-perfume,  105 

And  I  with  my  comrades  there  in  the  night. 


314  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


16 

Passing  the  visions,  passing  the  night, 

Passing,  unloosing  the  hold  of  my  comrades'  hands, 

Passing  the  song  of  the  hermit  bird  and  the  tallying  song  of  my 

soul, 

Victorious  song,   death's  outlet  song,   yet  varying  ever-altering 
110     song, 

As  low  and  wailing,  yet  clear  the  notes,  rising  and  falling,  flooding 

the  night, 
Sadly  sinking  and  fainting,  as  warning  and  warning,  and  yet  again 

bursting  with  joy, 

Covering  the  earth  and  filling  the  spread  of  the  heaven, 
As  that  powerful  psalm  in  the  night  I  heard  from  recesses, 
115  Passing,  I  leave  thee  lilac  with  heart-shaped  leaves, 

I  leave  thee  there  in  the   door-yard,   blooming,   returning   with 

spring. 


I  cease  from  my  song  for  thee, 

From  my  gaze  on  thee  in  the  west,  fronting  the  west,  communing 

with  thee, 
O  comrade  lustrous  with  silver  face  in  the  night. 

120  Yet  each  to  keep  and  all,  retrievements  out  of  the  night, 
The  song,  the  wondrous  chant  of  the  gray-brown  bird, 
And  the  tallying  chant,  the  echo  arous'd  in  my  soul, 
With  the  lustrous  and  drooping  star  with  the  countenance  full  of 

woe, 
With   the   holders  holding  my    hand    nearing    the   call   of  the 

bird, 

Comrades  mine  and  I  in  the  midst,  and  their  memory  ever  to  keep, 
125     for  the  dead  I  loved  so  well, 

For  the  sweetest,  wisest  soul  of  all  my  days  and  lands  —  and  this 

for  his  dear  sake, 

Lilac  and  star  and  bird  twined  with  the  chant  of  my  soul, 
There  in  the  fragrant  pines  and  the  cedars  dusk  and  dim. 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  315 

Come,  said  my  Soul 
COME,  SAID  MY  SOUL, 

SUCH  VERSES  FOR  MY  BODY  LET  US  WRITE,  (FOR  WE  ARE  ONE), 

THAT  SHOULD  I  AFTER  DEATH  INVISIBLY  RETURN, 

OR,  LONG,  LONG  HENCE,  IN  OTHER  SPHERES, 

THERE  TO  SOME  GROUP  OF  MATES  THE  CHANTS  RESUMING,          5 

(TALLYING  EARTH'S  SOIL,  TREES,  WINDS,  TUMULTUOUS  WAVES,) 

EVER  WITH  PLEAS'D  SMILE  i  MAY  KEEP  ON, 

EVER    AND    EVER   YET    THE    VERSES    OWNING  —  AS,    FIRST,    I    HERE 
AND   NOW, 

SIGHING  FOR  SOUL  AND  BODY,  SET  TO  THEM  MY  NAME, 

WALT  WHITMAN. 


OLIVER   WENDELL     HOLMES 
The  Height  of  the  Ridiculous 

I  wrote  some  lines  once  on  a  time 

In  wondrous  merry  mood, 
And  thought,  as  usual,  men  would  say 

They  were  exceeding  good. 

They  were  so  queer,  so  very  queer,        .  6 

I  laughed  as  I  would  die  ; 
Albeit,  in  the  general  way, 

A  sober  man  am  I. 

I  called  my  servant,  and  he  came  ; 

How  kind  it  was  of  him  10 

To  mind  a  slender  man  like  me, 

He  of  the  mighty  limb  ! 

*  These  to  the  printer,'  I  exclaimed, 

And,  in  my  humorous  way, 
I  added  (as  a  trifling  jest),  16 

4  There'll  be  the  devil  to  pay.' 


316  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

He  took  the  paper,  and  I  watched, 

And  saw  him  peep  within  ; 
At  the  first  line  he  read,  his  face 
20  Was  all  upon  the  grin. 

He  read  the  next ;  the  grin  grew  broad, 
And  shot  from  ear  to  ear ; 

He  read  the  third ;  a  chuckling  noise 
I  now  began  to  hear. 

25  The  fourth  ;  he  broke  into  a  roar ; 

The  fifth  ;  his  waistband  split ; 
The  sixth ;  he  burst  five  buttons  off, 
And  tumbled  in  a  fit. 

Ten  days  and  nights,  with  sleepless  eye, 
30  I  watched  that  wretched  man, 

And  since,  I  never  dare  to  write 
As  funny  as  I  can. 

The  Last  Leaf 

I  saw  him  once  before, 
As  he  passed  by  the  door, 

And  again 

The  pavement  stones  resound, 
5  As  he  totters  o'er  the  ground 

With  his  cane. 

They  say  that  in  his  prime, 
Ere  the  pruning-knife  of  Time 

Cut  him  down, 

10  Not  a  better  man  was  found 

By  the  Crier  on  his  round 

Through  the  town. 

But  now  he  walks  the  streets, 
And  he  looks  at  all  he  meets 
16  Sad  and  wan, 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  317 

And  he  shakes  his  feeble  head, 
That  it  seems  as  if  he  said, 
'  They  are  gone.' 

The  mossy  marbles  rest 

On  the  lips  that  he  has  prest  20 

In  their  bloom, 

And  the  names  he  loved  to  hear 
Have  been  carved  for  many  a  year 

On  the  tornb. 

My  grandmamma  has  said —  25 

Poor  old  lady,  she  is  dead 

Long  ago  — 

That  he  had  a  Roman  nose, 
And  his  cheek  was  like  a  rose 

In  the  snow;  30 

But  now  his  nose  is  thin, 
And  it  rests  upon  his  chin 

Like  a  staff, 

And  a  crook  is  in  his  back, 
And  a  melancholy  crack  35 

In  his  laugh. 

I  know  it  is  a  sin 
For  me  to  sit  and  grin 

At  him  here ; 

But  the  old  three-cornered  hat,  49 

And  the  breeches,  and  all  that, 

Are  so  queer  ! 

And  if  I  should  live  to  be 
The  last  leaf  upon  the  tree 

In  the  spring,  45 

Let  them  smile,  as  I  do  now, 
At  the  old  forsaken  bough 

Where  I  cling. 


318  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

The  Chambered  Nautilus 

This  is  the  ship  of  pearl,  which,  poets  feign, 

Sails  the  unshadowed  main,  — 

The  venturous  bark  that  flings 
On  the  sweet  summer  wind  its  purpled  wings 
5       In  gulfs  enchanted,  where  the  Siren  sings, 

And  coral  reefs  lie  bare, 
Where  the  cold  sea-maids  rise  to  sun  their  streaming  hair. 

Its  webs  of  living  gauze  no  more  unfurl ; 

Wrecked  is  the  ship  of  pearl ! 
10  And  every  chambered  cell, 

Where  its  dim  dreaming  life  was  wont  to  dwell, 
As  the  frail  tenant  shaped  his  growing  shell, 

Before  thee  lies  revealed,  — 
Its  irised  ceiling  rent,  its  sunless  crypt  unsealed  \ 

15      Year  after  year  beheld  the  silent  toil 
That  spread  his  lustrous  coil ; 
Still,  as  the  spiral  grew, 
He  left  the  past  year's  dwelling  for  the  new, 
Stole  with  soft  step  its  shining  archway  through, 
20  Built  up  its  idle  door, 

Stretched  in  his  last-found  home,  and  knew  the  old  no  more. 

Thanks  for  the  heavenly  message  brought  by  thee, 

Child  of  the  wandering  sea, 

Cast  from  her  lap,  forlorn  ! 
25     From  thy  dead  lips  a  clearer  note  is  born 

Than  ever  Triton  blew  from  wreathed  horn ! 

While  on  mine  ear  it  rings, 
Through  the  deep  caves  of  thought  I  hear  a  voice  that  sings  : 

Build  thee  more  stately  mansions,  O  my  soul, 
30  As  the  swift  seasons  roll ! 

Leave  thy  low-vaulted  past ! 
Let  each  new  temple,  nobler  than  the  last, 
Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast, 

Till  thou  at  length  art  free, 
35     Leaving  thine  outgrown  shell  by  life's  unresting  sea ! 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  319 

The  Deacon's  Masterpiece,  or,  The  Wonderful  « One-hoss  Shay ' 
A  Logical  Story 

Have  you  heard  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay, 

That  was  built  in  such  a  logical  way 

It  ran  a  hundred  years  to  a  day, 

And  then,  of  a  sudden,  it  —  ah,  but  stay, 

I'll  tell  you  what  happened  without  delay,  5 

Scaring  the  parson  into  fits, 

Frightening  people  out  of  their  wits, — 

Have  you  ever  heard  of  that,  I  say  ? 

Seventeen  hundred  and  fifty-five. 

Georgius  Secundus  was  then  alive, —  70 

Snuffy  old  drone  from  the  German  hive. 

That  was  the  year  when  Lisbon-town 

Saw  the  earth  open  and  gulp  her  down, 

And  Braddock's  army  was  done  so  brown, 

Left  without  a  scalp  to  its  crown.  15 

It  was  on  the  terrible  Earthquake-day 

That  the  Deacon  finished  the  one-hoss  shay. 

Now  in  building  of  chaises,  I  tell  you  what, 

There  is  always  somewhere  a  weakest  spot,  — 

In  hub,  tire,  felloe,  in  spring  or  thill,  20 

In  panel,  or  crossbar,  or  floor,  or  sill, 

In  screw,  bolt,  thoroughbrace,  —  lurking  still, 

Find  it  somewhere  you  must  and  will, — 

Above  or  below,  or  within  or  without,  — 

And  that's  the  reason,  beyond  a  doubt,  25 

That  a  chaise  breaks  down,  but  doesn't  wear  out. 

But  the  Deacon  swore  (as  deacons  do, 

With  an  « I  dew  vum,'  or  an  'I  tell  yeou') 

He  would  build  one  shay  to  beat  the  taown 

*N*  the  keounty  'n'  all  the  kentry  raoun';  30 

It  should  be  so  built  that  it  could  n'  break  daown 


320  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

'  Fur,'  said  the  Deacon,  *  't's  mighty  plain 
Thut  the  weakes'  place  mus'  stan'  the  strain ; 
fN*  the  way  t'  fix  it,  uz  I  maintain, 
35  Is  only  jest 

T'  make  that  place  uz  strong  uz  the  rest/ 

So  the  Deacon  inquired  of  the  village  folk 
Where  he  could  find  the  strongest  oak, 
That  couldn't  be  split  nor  bent  nor  broke,  — 

40  That  was  for  spokes  and  floor  and  sills ; 

He  sent  for  lancewood  to  make  the  thills ; 
The  crossbars  were  ash,  from  the  straightest  trees, 
The  panels  of  white-wood,  that  cuts  like  cheese, 
But  lasts  like  iron  for  things  like  these; 

45  The  hubs  of  logs  from  the  *  Settler's  ellum,'  — 

Last  of  its  timber,  —  they  couldn't  sell  'em, 
Never  an  axe  had  seen  their  chips, 
And  the  wedges  flew  from  between  their  lips, 
Their  blunt  ends  frizzled  like  celery-tips  ; 

50  Step  and  prop-iron,  bolt  and  screw, 

Spring,  tire,  axle,  and  linchpin  too, 
Steel  of  the  finest,  bright  and  blue ; 
Thoroughbrace  bison-skin,  thick  and  wide; 
Boot,  top,  dasher,  from  tough  old  hide 

55  Found  in  the  pit  when  the  tanner  died. 

That  was  the  way  he  *  put  her  through.' 
*  There ! '  said  the  Deacon,  '  naow  she'll  dew  I ' 

Do  !  I  tell  you,  I  rather  guess 
She  was  a  wonder,  and  nothing  less ! 
60  Colts  grew  horses,  beards  turned  gray, 

Deacon  and  deaconess  dropped  away, 
Children  and  grandchildren  — where  were  they? 
But  there  stood  the  stout  old  one-hoss  shay 
As  fresh  as  on  Lisbon-earthquake-day ! 

65  EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  ;  —  it  came  and  found 

The  Deacon's  masterpiece  strong  and  sound. 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  321 

Eighteen  hundred  increased  by  ten ;  — 

"  Hahnsum  kerridge  "  they  called  it  then. 

Eighteen  hundred  and  twenty  came ;  — 

Running  as  usual ;  much  the  same.  70 

Thirty  and  forty  at  last  arrive, 

And  then  come  fifty,  and  FIFTY-FIVE. 

Little  of  all  we  value  here 

Wakes  on  the  morn  of  its  hundredth  year 

Without  both  feeling  and  looking  queer.  75 

In  fact,  there's  nothing  that  keeps  its  youth, 

So  far  as  I  know,  but  a  tree  and  truth. 

(This  is  a  moral  that  runs  at  large ; 

Take  it.  —  You're  welcome.  — No  extra  charge.) 

FIRST  OF  NOVEMBER,  —  the  earthquake-day,  —  80 

There  are  traces  of  age  in  the  one-boss  shay, 

A  general  flavor  of  mild  decay, 

But  nothing  local,  as  one  may  say. 

There  couldn't  be,  —  for  the  Deacon's  art 

Had  made  it  so  like  in  every  part  85 

That  there  wasn't  a  chance  for  one  to  start. 

For  the  wheels  were  just  as  strong  as  the  thills, 

And  the  floor  was  just  as  strong  as  the  sills, 

And  the  panels  just  as  strong  as  the  floor, 

And  the  whipple-tree  neither  less  nor  more,  90 

And  the  back  crossbar  as  strong  as  the  fore, 

And  spring  and  axle  and  hub  encore. 

And  yet,  as  a  whole,  it  is  past  a  doubt 

In  another  hour  it  will  be  worn  out ! 

First  of  November,  'Fifty-five !  95 

This  morning  the  parson  takes  a  drive. 

Now,  small  boys,  get  out  of  the  way ! 

Here  comes  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay, 

Drawn  by  a  rat-tailed,  ewe-necked  bay. 

'  Huddup  ! '  said  the  parson.  —  Off  went  they.  100 


322  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

The  parson  was  working  his  Sunday's  text,  — 
Had  got  to  fifthly,  and  stopped  perplexed 
At  what  the  — Moses  —  was  coming  next. 
All  at  once  the  horse  stood  still, 

105  Close  by  the  meet'n'-house  on  the  hill. 

First  a  shiver,  and  then  a  thrill, 
Then  something  decidedly  like  a  spill,  — 
And  the  parson  was  sitting  upon  a  rock, 
At  half  past  nine  by  the  meet'n'-house  clock,— 

110  Just  the  hour  of  the  Earthquake  shock ! 

What  do  you  think  the  parson  found, 
When  he  got  up  and  stared  around  ? 
The  poor  old  chaise  in  a  heap  or  mound, 
As  if  it  had  been  to  the  mill  and  ground  1 

115  You  see,  of  course,  if  you're  not  a  dunce, 

How  it  went  to  pieces  all  at  once, — 
All  at  once,  and  nothing  first,  — 
Just  as  bubbles  do  when  they  burst. 

End  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay, 
120  Logic  is  logic.     That's  all  I  say. 


Parson  Turell's  Legacy,  or,  the  President's  Old  Arm-Chair 

A  Mathematical  Story 

Facts  respecting  an  old  arm-chair, 
At  Cambridge.     Is  kept  in  the  College  there. 
Seems  but  little  the  worse  for  wear. 
That's  remarkable  when  I  say 
5  It  was  old  in  President  Holyoke's  day. 

(One  of  his  boys,  perhaps  you  know, 
Died,  at  one  hundred,  years  ago.) 
He  took  lodgings  for  rain  or  shine 
Under  green  bed-clothes  in  '69. 

10  Know  old  Cambridge  ?  Hope  you  do.  — 

Born  there  ?  Don't  say  so !  I  was,  too. 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  323 

(Born  in  a  house  with  a  gambrel-roof,  — 

Standing  still,  if  you  must  have  proof.  — 

*  Gambrel  ? —  Gambrel  ?  '  —  Let  me  beg 

You'll  look  at  a  horse's  hinder  leg,  —  15 

First  great  angle  above  the  hoof,  — 

That's  the  gambrel :  hence  gambrel-roof.) 

Nicest  place  that  ever  was  seen,  — 

Colleges  red  and  Common  green, 

Sidewalks  brownish  with  trees  between.  20 

Sweetest  spot  beneath  the  skies 

When  the  canker-worms  don't  rise,  — 

When  the  dust,  that  sometimes  flies 

Into  your  mouth  and  ears  and  eyes, 

In  a  quiet  slumber  lies,  25 

Not  in  the  shape  of  unbaked  pies 

Such  as  barefoot  children  prize. 

A  kind  of  harbor  it  seems  to  be, 

Facing  the  flow  of  a  boundless  sea. 

Rows  of  gray  old  Tutors  stand  30 

Ranged  like  rocks  above  the  sand; 

Rolling  beneath  them,  soft  and  green, 

Breaks  the  tide  of  bright  sixteen,  — 

One  wave,  two  waves,  three  waves,  four,  — > 

Sliding  up  the  sparkling  floor :  35 

Then  it  ebbs  to  flow  no  more, 

Wandering  off  from  shore  to  shore 

With  its  freight  of  golden  ore  ! 

Pleasant  place  for  boys  to  play  ;  —     • 

Better  keep  your  girls  away ;  40 

Hearts  get  rolled  as  pebbles  do 

Which  countless  fingering  waves  pursue, 

And  every  classic  beach  is  strown 

With  heart-shaped  pebbles  of  blood-red  stone. 

But  this  is  neither  here  nor  there ;  45 

I'm  talking  about  an  old  arm-chair. 


324  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

You've  heard,  no  doubt,  of  PARSON  TURELL  ? 
Over  at  Medf ord  he  used  to  dwell ; 
Married  one  of  the  Mathers'  folk ; 

50  Got  with  his  wife  a  chair  of  oak,  — 

Funny  old  chair  with  seat  like  wedge. 
Sharp  behind  and  broad  front  edge,  — 
One  of  the  oddest  of  human  things, 
Turned  all  over  with  knobs  and  rings,  — 

55  But  heavy,  and  wide,  and  deep,  and  grand,  — 

Fit  for  the  worthies  of  the  land,  — 
Chief  Justice  Sew  all  a  cause  to  try  in, 
Or  Cotton  Mather  to  sit  —  and  lie  —  in. 
Parson  Turell  bequeathed  the  same 

60  To  a  certain  student,  —  SMITH  by  name ; 

These  were  the  terms,  as  we  are  told : 
'  Saide  Smith  saide  Chaire  to  have  and  holde ; 
When  he  doth  graduate,  then  to  passe 
To  ye  oldest  Youth  in  y   Senior  Classe. 

65  On  payment  of  '  —  (naming  a  certain  sum)  — 

'By  him  to  whom  ye  Chaire  shall  come ; 
He  to  ye  oldest  Senior  next, 
And  soe  forever  '  (thus  runs  the  text), — 
*  But  one  Crown  lesse  than  he  gave  to  claime, 

70  That  being  his  Debte  for  use  of  same.' 

Smith  transferred  it  to  one  of  the  BROWNS, 

And  took  his  money,  —  five  silver  crowns. 

Brown  delivered  it  up  to  MOORE, 

Who  paid,  it  is  plain,  not  five,  but  four. 
75  Moore  made  over  the  chair  to  LEE, 

Who  gave  him  crowns  of  silver  three. 

Lee  conveyed  it  unto  DREW, 

And  now  the  payment,  of  course,  was  two. 

Drew  gave  up  the  chair  to  DUNN, — 
80  All  he  got,  as  you  see,  was  one. 

Dunn  released  the  chair  to  HALL, 

And  got  by  the  bargain  no  crown  at  all. 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  325 

And  now  it  passed  to  a  second  BROWN, 

Who  took  it  and  likewise  claimed  a  crown. 

When  Brown  conveyed  it  unto  WARE,  85 

Having  had  one  crown,  to  make  it  fair, 

He  paid  him  two  crowns  to  take  the  chair ; 

And  Ware,  being  honest  (as  all  Wares  be),  f 

He  paid  one  POTTER,  who  took  it,  three. 

Four  got  ROBINSON  ;  five  got  Dix ;  90 

JOHNSON  primus  demanded  six; 

And  so  the  sum  kept  gathering  still 

Till  after  the  battle  of  Bunker's  Hill. 

When  paper  money  became  so  cheap, 

Folks  wouldn't  count  it,  but  said  «  a  heap,'  95 

A  certain  RICHARDS,  — the  books  declare 

(A.  M.  in  '90  ?     I've  looked  with  care 

Through  the  Triennial,  —  name  not  there), — 

This  person,  Richards,  was  offered  then 

Eightscore  pounds,  but  would  have  ten  ;  100 

Nine,  I  think,  was  the  sum  he  took, — 

Not  quite  certain,  —  but  see  the  book. 

By  and  by  the  wars  were  still, 

But  nothing  had  altered  the  Parson's  will. 

The  old  arm-chair  was  solid  yet,  105 

But  saddled  with  such  a  monstrous  debt ! 

Things  grew  quite  too  bad  to  bear, 

Paying  such  sums  to  get  rid  of  the  chair  1 

But  dead  men's  fingers  hold  awful  tight, 

And  there  was  the  will  in  black  and  white,  110 

Plain  enough  for  a  child  to  spell. 

What  should  be  done  no  man  could  tell, 

For  the  chair  was  a  kind  of  nightmare  curse, 

And  every  season  but  made  it  worse. 

As  a  last  resort,  to  clear  the  doubt,  115 

They  got  old  GOVERNOR  HANCOCK  out. 

The  Governor  came  with  his  Lighthorse  Troop 

And  his  mounted  truckmen,  all  cock-a-hoop ; 


326  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Halberds  glittered  and  colors  flew, 
120  French  horns  whinnied  and  trumpets  blew, 

The  yellow  fifes  whistled  between  their  teeth, 
And  the  bumble-bee  bass-drums  boomed  beneath; 
So  he  rode  with  all  his  band, 
Till  the  President  met  him,  cap  in  hand. 
125  The  Governor  '  hefted '  the  crowns,  and  said,  — 

*  A  will  is  a  will,  and  the  Parson's  dead.' 
The  Governor  hefted  the  crowns.     Said  he,  — 
4  There  is  your  p'int.     And  here's  my  fee. 
These  are  the  terms  you  must  fulfil,  — 
130  On  such  conditions  I  BREAK  THE  WILL  ! ' 

The  Governor  mentioned  what  these  should  be. 
(Just  wait  a  minute  and  then  you'll  see.) 
The  President  prayed.     Then  all  was  still, 
And  the  Governor  rose  and  BROKE  THE  WILL  ! 


135  '  About  those  conditions?'     Well,  now  you  go 

And  do  as  I  tell  you,  and  then  you'll  know. 
Once  a  year,  on  Commencement  day, 
If  you'll  only  take  the  pains  to  stay, 
You'll  see  the  President  in  the  CHAIR, 

140  Likewise  the  Governor  sitting  there. 

The  President  rises  ;  both  old  and  young 
May  hear  his  speech  in  a  foreign  tongue, 
The  meaning  whereof,  as  lawyers  swear, 
Is  this  :  Can  I  keep  this  old  arm-chair  ? 

145  And  then  his  Excellency  bows, 

As  much  as  to  say  that  he  allows. 
The  Vice-Gub.  next  is  called  by  name ; 
He  bows  like  t'other,  which  means  the  same. 
And  all  the  officers  round  'em  bow 

150  As  much  as  to  say  that  they  allow. 

And  a  lot  of  parchments  about  the  chair 
Are  handed  to  witnesses  then  and  there, 
And  then  the  lawyers  hold  it  clear 
That  the  chair  is  safe  for  another  year. 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  327 

God  bless  you,  Gentlemen  !     Learn  to  give  155 

Money  to  colleges  while  you  live. 

Don't  be  silly  and  think  you'll  try 

To  bother  the  colleges  when  you  die, 

With  codicil  this,  and  codicil  that, 

That  Knowledge  may  starve  while  Law  grows  fat ;  160 

For  there  never  was  pitcher  that  wouldn't  spill, 

And  there's  always  a  flaw  in  a  donkey's  will ! 


All  Here 

It  is  not  what  we  say  or  sing, 

That  keeps  our  charm  so  long  unbroken, 
Though  every  lightest  leaf  we  bring 

May  touch  the  heart  as  friendship's  token  ; 
Not  what  we  sing  or  what  we  say  5 

Can  make  us  dearer  to  each  other ; 
We  love  the  singer  and  his  lay, 

But  love  as  well  the  silent  brother. 

Yet  bring  whate'er  your  garden  grows, 

Thrice  welcome  to  our  smiles  and  praises ;  10 

Thanks  for  the  myrtle  and  the  rose, 

Thanks  for  the  marigolds  and  daisies ; 
One  flower  ere  long  we  all  shall  claim, 

Alas !  unloved  of  Amaryllis  — 
Nature's  last  blossom  —  need  I  name  15 

The  wreath  of  threescore 's  silver  lilies? 

How  many,  brothers,  meet  to-night 

Around  our  boyhood's  covered  embers  ? 
Go  read  the  treasured  names  aright 

The  old  triennal  list  remembers  ;  20 

Though  twenty  wear  the  starry  sign 

That  tells  a  life  has  broke  its  tether, 
The  fifty-eight  of  'twenty-nine  — 

God  bless  THE  BOYS  !  —  are  all  together! 


328  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

25  These  come  with  joyous  look  and  word, 

With  friendly  grasp  and  cheerful  greeting,  — 
Those  smile  unseen,  and  move  unheard, 

The  angel  guests  of  every  meeting ; 
They  cast  no  shadow  in  the  flame 
30  That  flushes  from  the  gilded  lustre, 

But  count  us  —  we  are  still  the  same  ; 
One  earthly  band,  one  heavenly  cluster ! 

Love  dies  not  when  he  bows  his  head 

To  pass  beyond  the  narrow  portals,  — 
35  The  light  these  glowing  moments  shed 

Wakes  from  their  sleep  our  lost  immortals  ; 
They  come  as  in  their  joyous  prime, 

Before  their  morning  days  were  numbered,  — 
Death  stays  the  envious  hand  of  Time,  — 
40  The  eyes  have  not  grown  dim  that  slumbered ! 

The  paths  that  loving  souls  have  trod 

Arch  o'er  the  dust  where  worldlings  grovel 
High  as  the  zenith  o'er  the  sod,  — 

The  cross  above  the  sexton's  shovel ! 
45  We  rise  beyond  the  realms  of  day  ; 

They  seem  to  stoop  from  spheres  of  glory 
With  us  one  happy  hour  to  stray, 

While  youth  comes  back  in  song  and  story. 

Ah  !  ours  is  friendship  true  as  steel 
50  That  war  has  tried  in  edge  and  temper ; 

It  writes  upon  its  sacred  seal 

The  priest's  ubique  —  omnes — semper  ! 
It  lends  the  sky  a  fairer  sun 

That  cheers  our  lives  with  rays  as  steady 
55  As  if  our  footsteps  had  begun 

To  print  the  golden  streets  already  ! 

The  tangling  years  have  clinched  its  knot 
Too  fast  for  mortal  strength  to  sunder ; 
The  lightning  bolts  of  noon  are  shot; 
60  No  fear  of  evening's  idle  thunder  ! 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  329 

Too  late  !  too  late  !  —  no  graceless  hand 

Shall  stretch  its  cords  in  vain  endeavor 
To  rive  the  close  encircling  band 

That  made  and  keeps  us  one  forever ! 

So  when  upon  the  fated  scroll  65 

The  falling  stars  have  all  descended, 
And,  blotted  from  the  breathing  roll, 

Our  little  page  of  life  is  ended, 
We  ask  but  one  memorial  line 

Traced  on  thy  tablet,  Gracious  Mother :  70 

« My  children.     Boys  of  '29. 

In  pace.     How  they  loved  each  other  ! ' 


The  Broomstick  Train ;  or,  The  Return  of  the  Witches 

Look  out !    Look  out,  boys !     Clear  the  track ! 

The  witches  are  here  !     They've  all  come  back  ! 

They  hanged  them  high,  —  No  use  !   No  use  1 

What  cares  a  witch  for  a  hangman's  noose? 

They  buried  them  deep,  but  they  wouldn't  lie  still,  5 

For  cats  and  witches  are  hard  to  kill ; 

They  swore  they  shouldn't  and  wouldn't  die,  — 

Books  said  they  did,  but  they  lie  !   they  lie  1 

A  couple  of  hundred  years,  or  so, 

They  had  knocked  about  in  the  world  below,  10 

When  an  Essex  Deacon  dropped  in  to  call, 

And  a  homesick  feeling  seized  them  all ; 

For  he  came  from  a  place  they  knew  full  well, 

And  many  a  tale  he  had  to  tell. 

They  longed  to  visit  the  haunts  of  men,  15 

To  see  the  old  dwellings  they  knew  again, 

And  ride  on  their  broomsticks  all  around 

Their  wide  domain  of  unhallowed  ground. 

In  Essex  county  there's  many  a  roof 

Well  known  to  him  of  the  cloven  hoof.-  20 


330  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

The  small  square  windows  are  full  in  view 
Which  the  midnight  hags  went  sailing  through, 
On  their  well-trained  broomsticks  mounted  high, 
Seen  like  shadows  against  the  sky ; 
25  Crossing  the  track  of  owls  and  bats, 

Hugging  before  them  their  coal-black  cats. 

Well  did  they  know,  those  gray  old  wives, 
The  sights  we  see  in  our  daily  drives : 
Shimmer  of  lake  and  shine  of  sea, 

30  Browne's  bare  hill  with  its  lonely  tree, 

(It  wasn't  then  as  we  see  it  now, 
With  one  scant  scalp-lock  to  shade  its  brow ;) 
Dusky  nooks  in  the  Essex  woods, 
Dark,  dim,  Dante-like  solitudes, 

35  Where  the  tree-toad  watches  the  sinuous  snake 

Glide  through  his  forests  of  fern  and  brake ; 
Ipswich  River ;  its  old  stone  bridge ; 
Far  off  Andover's  Indian  Ridge, 
And  many  a  scene  where  history  tells 

40  Some  shadow  of  bygone  terror  dwells,  — 

Of  « Norman's  Woe  '  with  its  tale  of  dread, 
Of  the  Screeching  Woman  of  Marblehead, 
(The  fearful  story  that  turns  men  pale  : 
Don't  bid  me  tell  it,  —  my  speech  would  fail.) 

45  Who  would  not,  will  not,  if  he  can, 

Bathe  in  the  breezes  of  fair  Cape  Ann, — 
Rest  in  the  bowers  her  bays  enfold, 
Loved  by  the  sachems  and  squaws  of  old? 
Home  where  the  white  magnolias  bloom, 

50  Sweet  with  the  bayberry's  chaste  perfume, 

Hugged  by  the  woods  and  kissed  by  the  sea  ! 
Where  is  the  Eden  like  to  thee  ? 
For  that  '  couple  of  hundred  years,  or  so,' 
There  had  been  no  peace  in  the  world  below; 

55  The  witches  still  grumbling,  '  It  isn't  fair ; 

Come,  give  us  a  taste  of  the  upper  air ! 


OLIVER   WENDELL   HOLMES  331 

We've  had  enough  of  your  sulphur  springs, 

And  the  evil  odor  that  round  them  clings ; 

We  long  for  a  drink  that  is  cool  and  nice,  — 

Great  buckets  of  water  with  Wenham  ice ;  60 

We've  served  you  well  up-stairs,  you  know ; 

You're  a  good  old  —  fellow  —  come,  let  us  go ! ' 

I  don't  feel  sure  of  his  being  good, 

But  he  happened  to  be  in  a  pleasant  mood,  — 

As  fiends  with  their  skins  full  sometimes  are  65 

(He'd  been  drinking  with  'roughs'  at  a  Boston  bar). 

So  what  does  he  do  but  up  and  shout 

To  a  graybeard  turnkey,  *  Let  'ern  out ! ' 

To  mind  his  orders  was  all  he  knew ; 

The  gates  swung  open,  and  out  they  flew.  70 

*  Where  are  our  broomsticks  ? '  the  beldams  cried. 

*  Here  are  your  broomsticks,'  an  imp  replied. 

*  They've  been  in  —  the  place  you  know —  so  long 
They  smell  of  brimstone  uncommon  strong ; 

But  they've  gained  by  being  left  alone,  —  75 

Just  look,  and  you'll  see  how  tall  they've  grown.' 

*  And  where  is  my  cat?'  a  vixen  squalled. 

*  Yes,  where  are  our  cats  ?  '  the  witches  bawled, 
And  began  to  call  them  all  by  name : 

As  fast  as  they  called  the  cats,  they  came :  80 

There  was  bob-tailed  Tommy  and  long-tailed  Tim, 

And  wall-eyed  Jacky  and  green-eyed  Jim, 

And  splay-foot  Benny  and  slim-legged  Beau, 

And  Skinny  and  Squally,  and  Jerry  and  Joe, 

And  many  another  that  came  at  call,  —  85 

It  would  take  too  long  to  count  them  all. 

All  black,  —  one  could  hardly  tell  which  was  which, 

But  every  cat  knew  his  own  old  witch  ; 

And  she  knew  hers  as  hers  knew  her, — 

Ah,  didn't  they  curl  their  tails  and  purr  I  90 

No  sooner  the  withered  hags  were  free 

Than  out  they  swarmed  for  a  midnight  spree ; 


332  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

I  couldn't  tell  all  they  did  in  rhymes, 
But  the  Essex  people  had  dreadful  times. 
95  The  Swampscott  fishermen  still  relate 

How  a  strange  sea-monster  stole  their  bait; 
How  their  nets  were  tangled  in  loops  and  knots, 
And  they  found  dead  crabs  in  their  lobster-pots. 
Poor  Danvers  grieved  for  her  blasted  crops, 

100  And  Wilmington  mourned  over  mildewed  hops. 

A  blight  played  havoc  with  Beverly  beans,  — 
It  was  all  the  work  of  those  hateful  queans  ! 
A  dreadful  panic  began  at «  Pride's,' 
Where  the  witches  stopped  in  their  midnight  rides,, 

105  And  there  rose  strange  rumors  and  vague  alarms 

'Mid  the  peaceful  dwellers  at  Beverly  Farms. 

Now  when  the  Boss  of  the  Beldams  found 

That  without  his  leave  they  were  ramping  round, 

He  called,  —  they  could  hear  him  twenty  miles, 

110  From  Chelsea  beach  to  the  Misery  Isles; 

The  deafest  old  granny  knew  his  tone 
Without  the  trick  of  the  telephone. 
'  Come  here,  you  witches  !    Come  here  ! '  says  he,  — 
'  At  your  games  of  old,  without  asking  me  ! 

115  I'll  give  you  a  little  job  to  do 

That  will  keep  you  stirring,  you  godless  crew  ?  * 

They  came,  of  course,  at  their  master's  call, 
The  witches,  the  broomsticks,  the  cats,  and  all; 
He  led  the  hags  to  a  railway  train 

120  The  horses  were  trying  to  drag  in  vain. 

'  Now,  then,'  says  he,  « you've  had  your  fun, 
And  here  are  the  cars  you've  got  to  run. 
The  driver  may  just  unhitch  his  team, 
We  don't  want  horses,  we  don't  want  steam; 

125  You  may  keep  your  old  black  cats  to  hug, 

But  the  loaded  train  you've  got  to  lug.' 

Since  then  on  many  a  car  you'll  see 
A  broomstick  plain  as  plain  can  be; 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  333 

On  every  stick  there's  a  witch  astride,  — 

The  string  you  see  to  her  leg  is  tied.  130 

She  will  do  a  mischief  if  she  can, 

But  the  string  is  held  by  a  careful  man, 

And  whenever  the  evil-minded  witch 

Would  cut  some  caper,  he  gives  a  twitch. 

As  for  the  hag,  you  can't  see  her,  135 

But  hark  !  you  can  hear  her  black  cat's  purr, 

And  now  and  then,  as  a  car  goes  by, 

You  may  catch  a  gleam  from  her  wicked  eye. 

Often  you've  looked  on  a  rushing  train, 

But  just  what  moved  it  was  not  so  plain.  140 

It  couldn't  be  those  wires  above, 

For  they  could  neither  pull  nor  shove ; 

Where  was  the  motor  that  made  it  go 

You  couldn't  guess,  but  now  you  know. 

Remember  my  rhymes  when  you  ride  again  145 

On  the  rattling  rail  by  the  broomstick  train  I 


The  Episode  of  the  Pie 
(From  The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table) 

—  I  will  thank  you  for  that  pie,  —  said  the  provoking 
young  fellow  whom  I  have  named  repeatedly.     He  looked 
at  it  for  a  moment,  and  put  his  hands  to  his  eyes  as  if 
moved. — I  was  thinking,  —  he  said,  indistinctly  — 

—  How?     What  is't?  — said  our  landlady.    '  5 

—  I  was  thinking  —  said  he  —  who  was  king  of  England 
when  this  old  pie  was  baked,  —  and  it  made  me  feel  bad  to 
think  how  long  he  must  have  been  dead. 

[Our  landlady  is  a  decent  body,  poor,  and  a  widow,  of 
course ;  cela  va  sans  dire.      She  told  me  her  story  once ;  it  10 
was  as  if  a  grain  of  corn  that  had  been  ground  and  bolted 
had  tried  to  individualize   itself  by   a   special   narrative. 


334  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

There  was  the  wooing  and  the  wedding,  —  the  start  in  life, 
—  the   disappointment,  —  the   children  she   had  buried, — 

15  the  struggle  against  fate,  —  the  dismantling  of  life,  first  of 
its  small  luxuries,  and  then  of  its  comforts,  —  the  broken 
spirits,  —  the  altered  character  of  the  one  on  whom  she  had 
leaned, — and  at  last  the  death  that  came  and  drew  the 
black  curtain  between  her  and  all  her  earthly  hopes. 

20  I  never  laughed  at  my  landlady  after  she  had  told  me  her 
story,  but  I  often  cried,  —  not  those  pattering  tears  that  run 
off  the  eaves  upon  our  neighbors'  grounds,  the  stillicidium  of 
self-conscious  sentiment,  but  those  which  steal  noiselessly 
through  their  conduits  until  they  reach  the  cisterns  lying 

25  round  about  the  heart ;  those  tears  which  we  weep  inwardly 
with  unchanging  features;  such  I  did  shed  for  her  often 
when  the  imps  of  the  boarding-house  Inferno  tugged  at  her 
soul  with  their  red-hot  pincers.] 

Young  man,  —  I  said,  —  the  pasty  you  speak  lightly  of  is 

30  not  old,  but  courtesy  to  those  who  labor  to  serve  us, 
especially  if  they  are  of  the  weaker  sex,  is  very  old,  and  yet 
well  worth  retaining.  The  pasty  looks  to  me  as  if  it  were 
tender,  but  I  know  that  the  hearts  of  women  are  so.  May  I 
recommend  to  you  the  following  caution,  as  a  guide,  whenever 

35  you  are  dealing  with  a  woman,  or  an  artist,  or  a  poet ;  —  if 
you  are  handling  an  editor  or  a  politician,  it  is  superfluous 
advice.  I  take  it  from  the  back  of  one  of  those  little 
French  toys  which  contain  pasteboard  figures  moved  by  a 
small  running  stream  of  fine  sand ;  Benjamin  Franklin  will 

40  translate  it  for  you :  "  Quoiqu'elle  soit  tr&s  solidement 
montee,  il  ne  faut  pas  BRUTALISER  la  machine."  —  I  will 
thank  you  for  the  pie,  if  you  please. 

(I  took  more  of  it  than  was  good  for  me,  —  as  much  as 
85°,  I  should  think,  and  had  an  indigestion  in  consequence. 

45  While  I  was  suffering  from  it,  I  wrote  some  sadly  despond 
ing  poems,  and  a  theological  essay  which  took  a  very 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  335 

melancholy  view  of  creation.  When  I  got  better,  I  labeled 
them  all  "  Pie-crust,"  and  laid  them  by  as  scare-crows  and 
solemn  warnings.  I  have  a  number  of  books  on  niy  shelves 
that  I  should  like  to  label  with  some  such  title ;  but,  as  50 
they  have  great  names  on  their  title-pages, — Doctors  of 
Divinity,  some  of  them,  —  it  wouldn't  do.) 

My  Last  Walk  with  the  Schoolmistress 
(From  The  Autocrat) 

But  all  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  walks  and  talks 
with  the  schoolmistress.  I  did  not  say  that  I  would  not 
tell  you  something  about  them.  Let  me  alone,  and  I  shall 
talk  to  you  more  than  I  ought  to,  probably.  We  never  tell 
our  secrets  to  people  that  pump  for  them.  5 

Books  we  talked  about,  and  education.  It  was  her  duty 
to  know  something  of  these,  and  of  course  she  did.  Perhaps 
I  was  somewhat  more  learned  than  she,  but  I  found  that 
the  difference  between  her  reading  and  mine  was  like  that 
of  a  man's  and  a  woman's  dusting  a  library.  The  man  flaps  10 
about  with  a  bunch  of  feathers ;  the  woman  goes  to  work 
softly  with  a  cloth.  She  does  not  raise  half  the  dust,  nor 
fill  her  own  eyes  and  mouth  with  it,  —  but  she  goes  into  all 
the  corners,  and  attends  to  the  leaves  as  much  as  the 
covers.  —  Books  are  the  negative  pictures  of  thought,  and  15 
the  more  sensitive  the  mind  that  receives  their  images,  the 
more  nicely  the  finest  lines  are  reproduced.  A  woman,  (of 
the  right  kind,)  reading  after  a  man,  follows  him  as  Ruth 
followed  the  reapers  of  Boaz,  and  her  gleanings  are  often 
the  finest  of  the  wheat.  20 

But  it  was  in  talking  of  Life  that  we  came  most  nearly 
together.  I  thought  I  knew  something  about  that,  —  that 
I  could  speak  or  write  about  it  somewhat  to  the  purpose. 

To  take  up  this  fluid  earthly  being  of  ours  as  a  sponge 


336  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

25  sucks  up  water,  —  to  be  steeped  and  soaked  in  its  realities 
as  a  hide  fills  its  pores  lying  seven  years  in  a  tan-pit,  —  to 
have  winnowed  every  wave  of  it  as  a  mill-wheel  works  up  a 
stream  that  runs  through  the  flume  upon  its  float-boards,  — 
to  have  curled  up  in  the  keenest  spasms  and  flattened  out  in 

30  the  laxest  languors  of  this  breathing-sickness  which  keeps 
certain  parcels  of  matter  uneasy  for  three  or  four  score 
years, — to  have  fought  all  the  devils  and  clasped  all  the 
angels  of  its  delirium,  —  and  then,  just  at  the  point  when 
the  white-hot  passions  have  cooled  down  to  cherry-red, 

35  plunge  our  experience  into  the  ice-cold  stream  of  some 
human  language  or  other,  one  might  think  would  end  in  a 
rhapsody  with  something  of  spring  and  temper  in  it.  All 
this  I  thought  my  power  and  province. 

The  schoolmistress  had  tried  life,  too.     Once  in  a  while 

40  one  meets  with  a  single  soul  greater  than  all  the  living 
pageant  that  passes  before  it.  As  the  pale  astronomer  sits 
in  his  study  with  sunken  eyes  and  thin  fingers,  and  weighs 
Uranus  or  Neptune  as  in  a  balance,  so  there  are  meek,  slight 
women  who  have  weighed  all  that  this  planetary  life  can 

45  offer,  and  hold  it  like  a  bauble  in  the  palm  of  their  slender 
hands.  This  was  one  of  them.  Fortune  had  left  her,  sor 
row  had  baptized  her ;  the  routine  of  labor  and  the  loneli 
ness  of  almost  friendless  city-life  were  before  her.  Yet,  as 
I  looked  upon  her  tranquil  face,  gradually  regaining  a 

50  cheerfulness  that  was  often  sprightly,  as  she  became  inter 
ested  in  the  various  matters  we  talked  about  and  places  we 
visited,  I  saw  that  eye  and  lip  and  every  shifting  lineament 
were  made  for  love,  —  unconscious  of  their  sweet  office  as 
yet,  and  meeting  the  cold  aspect  of  Duty  with  the  natural 

55  graces  which  were  meant  for  the  reward  of  nothing  less 
than  the  Great  Passion. 

—  I  never  spoke  one  word  of  love  to  the  schoolmistress 
in  the  course  of  these  pleasant  walks.     It  seemed  to  me  that 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES  337 

we  talked  of  everything  but  love  on  that  particular  morning. 
There  was,  perhaps,  a  little  more  timidity  and  hesitancy  on  60 
my  part  than  I  have  commonly  shown  among  the  people  at 
the  boarding-house.  In  fact,  I  considered  myself  the  master 
at  the  breakfast-table;  but,  somehow,  I  could  not  command 
myself  just  then  so  well  as  usual.  The  truth  is,  I  had 
secured  a  passage  to  Liverpool  in  the  steamer  which  was  to  65 
leave  at  noon,  —  with  the  condition,  however,  of  being  re 
leased  in  case  circumstances  occurred  to  detain  me.  The 
schoolmistress  knew  nothing  about  all  this,  of  course,  as 
yet. 

It  was  on  the  Common  that  we  were  walking.  The  mall,  70. 
or  boulevard  of  our  Common,  you  know,  has  various  branches 
leading  from  it  in  different  directions.  One  of  these  runs 
downward  from  opposite  Joy  Street  southward  across  the 
whole  length  of  the  Common  to  Boylston  Street.  We  called 
it  the  long  path,  and  were  fond  of  it.  75 

I  felt  very  weak  indeed  (though  of  a  tolerably'  robust 
habit)  as  we  came  opposite  the  head  of  this  path  on  that 
morning.  I  think  I  tried  to  speak  twice  without  making 
myself  distinctly  audible.  At  last  I  got  out  the  question,  — 
Will  you  take  the  long  path  with  me  ?  —  Certainly,  —  said  80 
the  schoolmistress,  —  with  much  pleasure.  —  Think,  —  I 
said,  —  before  you  answer ;  if  you  take  the  long  path  with 
me  now,  I  shall  interpret  it  that  we  are  to  part  no  more !  — 
The  schoolmistress  stepped  back  with  a  sudden  movement, 
as  if  an  arrow  had  struck  her.  85 

One  of  the  long  granite  blocks  used  as  seats  was  hard 
by,  —  the  one  you  may  still  see  close  by  the  Gingko-tree.  — 
Pray,  sit  down,  I  said. — No,  no,  —  she  answered,  softly, — 
I  will  take  the  long  path  with  you ! 

—  The  old  gentleman  who  sits  opposite  met  us  walking,  90 
arm  in  arm,  about  the  middle  of  the  long  path,  and  said, 
very  charmingly,  —  "  Good  morning,  my  dears !  " 


NOTES 

IT  is  assumed  that  some  handbook  is  used  with  these  readings. 
Hence,  dates  of  composition  and  biographical  details  are  not  given 
unless  they  have  some  important  bearing  on  the  passages  quoted.  If 
no  guide  is  in  the  hands  of  the  student,  some  of  the  larger  histories  of 
American  literature  should  be  available  for  reference  —  such  as  Trent's 
(Appleton),  Richardson's  (Putnams),  and  Wendell's  (Scribners). 
Words  are  not  explained  when  satisfactory  definitions  may  be  found 
in  such  volumes  as  Webster's  Secondary- School  Dictionary  (American 
Book  Company)  or  the  Concise  Oxford.  The  first-named  should  be 
in  the  possession  of  every  reader  who  can  not  procure  the  International, 
of  which  it  is  an  abridgment. 

SMITH.  —  The  student  should  bear  in  mind  that  the  language  of 
Smith  is  in  general  the  language  of  Shakspere's  plays  and  of  the 
King  James  (or  "  Authorized  ")  version  of  the  Bible.  A  glance  at  a 
first  edition  of  King  Lear  or  Hamlet  (or  a  facsimile  reprint)  will 
show  the  same  inaccuracy  and  inconsistencies  in  spelling,  punctuation, 
capitalization,  and  as  many  obsolete  words  and  idioms  as  are  found  in 
Smith.  For  spelling,  note  desart  (line  3),  bredth  (4),  seazed  (15),  and 
ceazed  (39).  Utterly  reasonless  punctuation  and  capitalization  are 
easily  observed.  For  words  and  forms  of  expression  no  longer  in  good 
use,  note  his  (4),  Noughts  (8;  "windings"),  in  (21;  "by"),  them 
(28  ;  "  themselves"),  admired  (42;  "  wondered  "). 

7.  vituals.  The  student  should  look  up  the  etymology  of  "vict 
uals  "  in  some  good  dictionary.  10.  light,  lighted.  The  guns  were 
matchlocks.  11.  peece,  piece,  firearm.  18.  with,  by  ;  frequent  in 
Elizabethan  English.  Cf  The  Tempest,  II,  ii,  112:  "killed  with  a 
thunderstroke."  21.  By  that,  by  the  time  that.  25.  Supply 
"  fell "  before  short.  29.  shot,  shooting.  30.  discovered,  dis 

closed.  34.  minding,  paying  attention  to.  40.  the  King,  i.e., 
Opechancanough.  42.  as,  that.  48.  Supply  after  woods :  "that 
they  were  a  party  hunting  deer."  51,  The  town  is  named  in  112, 
Easawrack.  Its  location  is  not  clear.  52.  onely,  only.  54.  ad- 

339 


340  NOTES  [pp.  2-17] 

vertised,  informed  ;  accented  on  the  second  syllable  in  the  seventeenth 
century.  See  Shakspere's  3  Henry  VI,  V,  iii,  18.  59.  bishion. 
Probably  a  military  term.  66.  pound  as  plural,  like  "  year,"  "mile," 
and  some  other  nouns  of  measure,  is  no  longer  good  English. 
70.  points,  cords  to  fasten  hose  and  doublet.  72.  wanted,  lacked. 
77.  mischance,  i.e.,  the  capture  of  Smith.  85.  Paspahegh,  the  dis 
trict  in  which  Jamestown  was  located  ;  here  used  for  the  town  itself. 
89.  impossible,  impossible.  92.  Their  intent,  I  incerted  (for  "  in 
serted"),  of  their  intention  I  informed.  96.  salvage,  savage. 
106.  Youghtanan;  now  the  Pamunkey.  107.  Mattapament ;  now 
the  Mattapony.  109.  Pewhakan,  misprint  for  Powhatan.  110.  Fals, 
on  the  James  at  what  is  now  Richmond.  112.  marsh,  march. 

STRACHEY.  —  On  Strachey's  language  see  the  general  remarks  on 
Smith  above.  1.  St.  James  his  day,  old  form  for  "  St.  James's  day." 
53.  took  down  the  braves,  took  away  the  courage.  66.  made  up, 
came  up.  72.  bisket,  old  spelling  of  "biscuit."  88.  spell, 
relieve.  99.  as,  that.  104.  whip-staff,  obsolete  for  "  tiller,"  the 
lever  by  which  the  rudder  is  turned.  105.  ceased,  seized. 
113.  capstone,  capstan.  116.  all  thoughts.  .  .  else,  then  that,  all  other 
thoughts  except  that.  120.  remora,  the  sucking-fish,  supposed  to 
attach  itself  to  vessels  and  check  their  course.  123.  A  watch  on 
board  ship  is  four  hours,  his,  its,  referring  to  "thing,"  the  word  "  it " 
being  superfluous.  Beginning  of  sentence,  then,  means:  "One  thing 
does  not  fail  of  being  wonderful." 

WIGGLESWORTH.  — 1.  Bar,  judgment-seat  (of  Christ).  3.  or  ...  or, 
either  ...  or.  25.  Nature  was  probably  pronounced  as  an  exact 
rhyme  with  Creator. 

BRADSTREET.  —  29-30.  See  Psalms,  XIX,  5.  33.  vegative  (usually 
spelled  "  vegetive  "),  showing  little  mental  activity  ;  'i.e.,  animals  of  a 
low  order.  66.  Philomel,  the  nightingale. 

BRADFORD.  —  2.  pretty  parts,  accomplishments.  19.  of,  off. 
21.  livetenante,  lieutenant.  The  common  pronunciation  to-day  in 
Great  Britain  is  "lef tenant."  25.  petiefogger,  pettyfogger  ;  an  un 
scrupulous,  incompetent  lawyer.  Furnefells  Inne,  Furnival's  Inn ; 
one  of  eight  "Inns  of  Chancery,"  a  sort  of  preparatory  school  for 
law  students  who  afterward  entered  the  "  Inns  of  Court."  55.  The 
floralia,  or  feasts  of  the  goddess  Flora,  were  celebrated  with  much 
license. 


[pp.  18-29]  NOTES  341 

WINTHROP.  —  Winthrop  was  a  contemporary  of  Bradford ;  but  the 
text  m  all  modern  editions  of  the  former  is,  for  some  reason  not  ap 
parent,  modernized,  while  the  only  edition  of  Bradford's  history,  that 
made  by  the  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts,  is  a  faithful  reprint  of 
the  original.  10.  omnes,  etc.,  we  all  grow  worse  by  license.  41.  let 
us  break  their  bands,  etc.  See  Psalms,  II,  3. 

MATHER.  —  8.  Patent,  official  grant  of  territory.  14.  presently, 
immediately.  29.  almost  as  vernacular,  almost  as  if  it  were  his 
native  speech.  37.  Anabaptism  taught  (1)  that  the  baptism  of  in 
fants  is  not  sanctioned  by  the  Bible;  (2)  that  the  church  is  composed 
of  those  only  who  have  been  baptized  upon  a  profession  of  faith  ;  and 
(3)  that  there  should  be  an  entire  separation  of  church  and  state. 
55.  0  mihi,  etc.,  May  a  similar  end  of  life  fall  to  me  !  58.  No/ueus, 
etc.,  the  shepherd  and  rearer  of  the  human  flock.  See  Plato's  States 
man,  268,  A. 

EDWARDS.  —  14  ff.  The  number  of  omissions  in  this  selection  (indi 
cated  by  asterisks)  is  due  to  the  fact  that  both  Edwards's  style  and  his 
details  are  unimportant  for  the  student's  purposes.  The  ten  "con 
siderations  "  stated  in  barest  form  sufficiently  characterize  the  man 
himself  and  the  greater  portion  of  his  hearers. 

FRANKLIN.  —  On  Drunkenness.  —  The  series  of  Dogood  Papers 
appeared  in  Franklin's  brother's  paper,  the  Courant,  with  no  indica 
tion  of  authorship,  and  with  no  suspicion  of  the  identity  of  the  writer. 
1.  Quod  est,  etc.:  What  the  sober  man  thinks,  the  drunken  man 
speaks.  Franklin's  free  use  of  capitals  and  italics  is  reproduced  here. 
6.  humane,  human.  15.  Bacchus,  god  of  wine.  19.  discover;  see 
note  on  Smith,  30.  24.  Ponder  is,  of  course,  a  fictitious  personage. 
33.  my  own  sex.  Recall  that  this  is  supposed  to  be  written  by  a  woman. 
53.  impertinence,  matter  having  no  connection  with  the  subject  in 
hand.  77.  froze,  for  "frozen,"  as  also  chose  (80)  for  "chosen." 
The  preterit  of  strong  verbs  was  formerly  used  freely  for  the  past 
participle. 

Causes  of  the  American  Discontents,  first  published  in  The  London 
Chronicle,  Jan.  7,  1768,  pretends  to  have  been  written  by  an  English 
man.  In  our  readings  it  is  abridged  by  the  omission  of  two  passages 
summarized  in  the  note  below.  66.  In  this  paragraph  Franklia 
turns  aside  from  this  statement  of  facts  for  a  characteristic  bit  of  irony. 
74.  A  passage  omitted  here  recites  in  order  the  abuses  from  which  the 


342  NOTES  [pp.  30-45] 

colonies  had  suffered  —  the  Stamp  Act ;  the  act  for  quartering  soldiers 
in  private  houses;  the  act  taking  away  the  legislative  powers,  of  the 
New  York  colonial  assembly;  the  imposition  of  new  customs  duties, 
with  a  high-salaried  British  board  to  collect  them,  and  to  use  them  in 
paying  governors,  judges,  and  other  officials  not  appointed  by  the 
•colonies.  124.  emptying  our  gaols.  It  was  customary  to  send  British 
criminals  to  America,  bound  to  service  for  a  number  of  years,  instead 
of  holding  them  in  prison.  (Cf.  the  next  selection,  44-50.)  135.  ad 
libitum,  at  pleasure.  138.  A  passage  omitted  here  sets  forth  that  the 
colonists  have  agreed  to  refrain  from  the  use  of  taxed  articles ;  and 
that  they  assert  vigorously  their  loyalty  to  the  king,  while  refusing 
loyalty  to  a  House  of  Commons  in  which  they  are  not  represented. 

An  Edict  by  the  King  of  Prussia  was  published  in  The  Gentleman 's 
Magazine  (London),  October,  1773.  29.  these  presents,  this  docu 
ment.  Legal  term.  34.  ad  valorem,  according  to  value.  54.  stat 
utes  of,  etc.  Abbreviations  signify  the  year  of  the  reign  of  the  mon 
arch,  and  the  chapter  of  the  statutes  of  that  year.  E.g.,  the  tenth  and 
eleventh  years  of  William  III,  chapter  10.  71.  Rechtmaessig,  Ger 
man,  equivalent  to  "  Fair-and-just. "  72.  Jeux  d' Esprit,  French, 
meaning  "humorous  trifles  "  (singular,  jeu.) 

Whistle.  —  76.  apples  of  King  John.  Apparently  Franklin  means 
apples  of  Saint  John,  so  called  because  they  reached  maturity  about 
Saint  John's  Day  (May  6).  "  It  is  said  they  will  keep  for  two  years, 
and  are  best  when  shriveled."  (Brewer's  Dictionary  of  Phrase  and 
Fable.) 

HENRY.  —  The  genuineness  of  this  speech  has  been  questioned,  but 
to  the  present  editor  the  evidence  against  it  seems  not  worth  repeat 
ing.  39.  election,  choice. 

OTIS.  —  The  extract  gives  all  the  information  necessary  to  under 
stand  the  nature,  issuance,  and  execution  of  the  writs.  28.  14 
Charles  II.  See  note  on  Edict  by  the  King  of  Prussia,  54. 

PAINE.  —  64.    Howe,  British  commander. 

WASHINGTON. — It  is  perhaps  hardly  necessary  to  remind  the  student 
that  Washington  was  first  inaugurated  on  April  30,  1789,  in  New  York 
City.  6.  retreat,  Mount  Vernon  on  the  Potomac. 

JEFFERSON.  —  The  Summary  View  was  offered  by  Jefferson  as  suit 
able  instructions  for  the  Virginia  delegates  to  the  First  Continental 


[pp.  45-56]  NOTES  343 

Congress.  Regarded  as  extreme,  they  were  rejected.  Later  in  the 
year  ttie  document  was  printed  at  Williamsburg,  Virginia,  by  friends 
of  the  author. 

HAMILTON.  —  74.  Montesquieu,  French  writer  of  the  eighteenth 
century  on  political  science.  His  most  important  work,  The  Spirit  of 
Laws,  influenced  greatly  the  writings  on  the  American  Constitution. 

WOOLMAN. —  Woolman's  Journal  was  not  written  for  publication, 
and  was  not  published  until  after  his  death.  The  entire  work  is  now 
accessible  in  several  cheap  editions,  and  makes  an  interesting  study, 
especially  when  compared  with  Franklin's  Autobiography.  The  ex 
tract  given  is  from  Chapter  IV.  1.  This  [province],  Maryland. 
15.  Thou  shalt  not.  Exodus,  XXIII,  8.  16.  As  the  disciples,  etc. 
See  Matthew,  X,  10.  26.  Society,  the  Religious  Society  of  Friends ; 
also  called  Quakers.  36.  esteemed  before  myself,  thought  better  than 
myself.  38.  the  prophet,  Moses.  See  Numbers,  XI,  15.  47.  My 
soul.  Psalms,  CXXXI,  2.  74.  The  7th  day  of  the  fifth  month. 
Friends  still  number  the  months  and  the  days  of  the  week  instead 
of  naming  them.  "  Saturday,  July  fourth "  would  be  expressed 
in  "Friendly"  style,  "Seventh  Day,  Seventh  Month,  Fourth." 
80.  Yearly  Meeting.  A  single  congregation  of  Friends  is  called  a 
Monthly  Meeting;  the  Monthly  Meetings  within  a  limited  territory 
constitute  a  Quarterly  Meeting  ;  a  number  of  Quarterly  Meetings  unite 
in  a  Yearly  Meeting.  In  the  United  States  there  are  eleven  Yearly 
Meetings  of  the  "Orthodox"  branch  of  Friends,  and  seven  of  the 
"  Liberal  "  branch.  In  the  Philadelphia  Yearly  Meeting  of  the  latter 
nine  Quarterly  Meetings  are  included.  85.  Port  Eoyal,  a  town  on 
the  Rappahannock  in  eastern  Virginia. 

HOPKINSON.  —  The  Battle  of  the  Kegs,  sung  to  the  tune  of  u  Yankee 
Doodle,"  was  immensely  popular  during  the  Revolution. 

ANONYMOUS  REVOLUTIONARY  SONGS.  —  Paul  Jones. —  1.  Buccaneer, 
pirate.  Jones  is  so  called  because  of  the  irregular  character  of  his 
commission  —  and  indeed  of  the  whole  colonial  navy.  12.  Alfred, 
first  ship  commanded  by  Jones.  Hopkins,  Admiral  Esek ;  commander 
of  the  first  fleet  sent  out  by  the  colonies.  15-16.  The  first  American 
flag  was  raised  on  the  Alfred  by  Jones  in  1776.  On  it  was  a  pine  tree, 
with  a  coiled  rattlesnake  at  its  feet,  and  the  motto,  "  Don't  tread  on 
me."  21-22.  On  September  23,  1779,  the  British  ship  Serapis  sur 
rendered  to  the  Bonhomme  (Good-Man)  Eichard,  in  command  of 


344  NOTES  [pp.  57-66] 

Jones,  off  Flamborough  Head,  east  coast  of  England.  For  an  interest 
ing  imaginative  presentation  of  John  Paul  Jones,  read  Cooper's  The 
Pilot. 

Eiflemen's  Song.  —  At  Bennington,  Vermont,  August  15-16,  1777, 
the  British  and  Hessians  were  utterly  routed  by  the  Americans  under 
Colonel  John  Stark.  We  are  told  that  when  the  enemy  came  in  sight, 
Stark  said :  ' '  There  are  the  red-coats.  We  must  beat  them  to-day 
or  Molly  Stark's  a  widow." 

(A  large  number  of  interesting  Revolutionary  poems  and  songs  may 
be  found  in  Poems  of  American  History,  edited  by  B.  E.  Stevenson ; 
published  by  Houghton  Mifflin  Co.) 

TRUMBULL. —  McFingal. — The  student  should  see  a  summary  or 
outline  of  the  entire  poem  in  some  history.  Canto  III,  1.  pole,  the 
"Liberty  Pole."  McFingal  called  it  a  "  May-pole  of  sedition."  Canto 
IV,  4.  beneath  their  nose.  "  This,  during  the  American  war,  was  a 
fashionable  phrase  with  the  British.  No  officer,  who  had  a  lucky 
escape,  failed  of  stating  in  his  report,  that  he  made  a  grand  retreat 
under  the  very  nose  of  the  enemy."  (Trumbull's  note.)  5.  the 
window,  of  the  cellar  where  the  Tories  were  meeting.  12.  Lot. 
See  Genesis,  XIX,  12-26.  13.  North,  British  Prime  Minister. 
15.  phantom  of  Independence.  "  On  the  Declaration  of  Independ 
ence,  the  ministerial  speakers  in  Parliament  amused  themselves  by 
calling  it,  the  phantom  of  independence.  The  wit  was  echoed  by  their 
newspapers."  (Trumbull's  note.) 

BARLOW.  —  Vision  of  Columbus. — In  this  poem  (in  nine  books) 
Columbus  is  represented  as  seeing  from  a  hill  the  future  greatness  of 
America.  11-12.  In  1753-1754  Washington  gained  distinction  in  a 
campaign  against  the  French  at  the  headwaters  of  the  Ohio,  the 
beginning  of  the  French  and  Indian  War.  16-17.  Forty-four  lines 
omitted  here  give  a  catalogue  of  Washington's  lieutenants. 
31.  Charlestown,  then  a  suburb  of  Boston;  now  a  part  of  the 
city.  32.  Champlain,  the  lake  in  northeastern  New  York. 

GODFREY.  —  Prince  of  Parthia. —  The  scene  given  shows  one  of  the 
leading  motives  of  the  play  — the  love  of  the  brothers,  Princes  Arsaces 
and  Vardanes,  for  Evanthe,  a  beautiful  captive.  Arsaces,  the 
heroine's  choice,  has  by  Vardanes's  schemes  been  imprisoned  ;  and 
the  latter  threatens  that,  unless  she  look  upon  his  suit  with  favor,  her 
beloved  will  be  puv  xo  death. 


[pp.  68-73]  NOTES  345 

FRENEAU. — A  Political  Litany  (also  called  Emancipation  from 
British  Dependence}.  —  Written  in  1775.  One  of  the  earliest  expres 
sions  in  print  of  the  sentiment  for  absolute  independence  of  the 
colonies.  Title:  the  form  of  the  poem  imitates  the  Litany  of  the 
Episcopal  church.  1.  Libera,  etc.  The  Litany  contains  eight  peti 
tions  beginning  "From,"  and  concluding  with  the  response  of  the 
congregation,  "  Good  Lord,  Deliver  Us."  7.  St.  James's,  the 
English  Court ;  here  meaning  the  government.  13.  Wallace,  Sir 
James,  and  Graves,  Baron  Thomas,  British  admirals.  Two  British 
warships  were  named  Viper  and  Hose ;  Wallace  commanded  the 
Hose  in  1771-1776.  15.  Dunmore,  last  royal  governor  of  the  colony 
of  Virginia,  1772-1776.  17.  Montague,  Sir  George,  British  naval 
officer.  23.  Tryon,  William,  last  royal  governor  of  New  York. 
27.  North.  See  note  on  McFingal,  IV,  13.  28.  King  Log,  about 
equal  to  "  King  Worthless."  See  note,  page  355,  for  the  story  from 
which  the  expression  comes. 

Eutaw  Springs.  —  "  To  the  Memory  of  the  Brave  Americans  under 
General  Greene,  in  South  Carolina,  who  Fell  in  the  Action  of 
September  8,  1781,  at  Eutaw  Springs"  (full  title).  Line  20  of  this 
poem  Scott  thought  good  enough  to  appropriate  with  the  change  of 
a  single  word.  In  the  Introduction  to  Canto  III  of  Marmion,  Scott 
has: 

"  They  snatched  the  spear  — but  left  the  shield." 

IRVING.  —  Character  of  Peter  Stuyvesant.  —  2.  Wouter  Van  Twiller 
was  the  first  of  the  Dutch  governors.  In  59  the  English  equivalent  of 
his  name  is  given —  Walter  the  Doubter.  9.  spinsters,  female  spin 
ners.  Of  the  three  fates,  Clotho  spins  the  thread  of  life,  Lachesis 
twists  it,  Atropos  cuts  it.  13.  Ajax  Telamon  was  "  the  bulwark  of 
the  Greeks,"  of  "immeasurable  strength,"  and  his  buckler  was  "like 
a  rampart."  See  the  Iliad,  Bryant's  translation,  Book  VII,  lines 
211-411.  16.  Atlas  was  one  of  the  Titans,  who,  after  the  defeat  of 
his  party  by  Jupiter,  was  compelled  to  bear  the  heavens  on  his  shoul 
ders.  Hercules  agreed  to  bear  Atlas's  load  while  the  latter  did  him  a 
favor.  17.  Coriolanus,  a  Roman  military  leader  of  the  fifth  century 
B.C.  Plutarch  wrote  parallel  lives  of  great  Greeks  and  Romans,  from 
which  Shakspere  got  the  materials  for  his  Greek  and  Roman  plays. 
Note  1.  Josselyn  and  Blome  were  Englishmen  who  visited  America 
in  the  late  seventeenth  century  and  wrote  some  very  absurd  things 
about  the  country.  35.  choleric  Achilles.  The  real  subject  of  the 


346  NOTES  [pp.  73-99] 

Iliad  is  the  "  wrath  of  Achilles."  His  rages  and  frequent  refusals  to 
fight  are  responsible  for  most  of  the  Greeks'  troubles.  39.  Peter  the 
Great,  Czar  of  Russia,  beginning  of  eighteenth  century.  41.  Plato, 
Aristotle,  Greek  philosophers  ;  Hobbes,  Bacon,  English  philosophers ; 
Sydney  (or  Sidney),  English  statesman  and  political  scientist ;  Paine. 
see  above,  pages  40-42.  50.  Wilhelmus  Kieft,  or  William  the  Testy 
(60),  governor  after  Wouter  Van  T wilier.  66.  wanted,  lacked. 

Tom  Walker.  — 160.  persecutions.  During  the  seventeenth  century 
these  sects  were  severely  persecuted  in  Massachusetts.  Roger 
Williams  led  a  number  of  Baptists  to  Rhode  Island,  where  they  not 
only  "worshipped  God  according  to  their  own  belief,"  but  allowed  all 
men  to  do  so.  A  tract  entitled  The  Wrongs  of  the  Quakers  (1660), 
by  Edward  Burrough,  an  English  Quaker  (printed  in  Hart's  American 
History  Toldby  Contemporaries,  Vol.  I,  pp.  404-6) ;  and  Hawthorne's 
imaginative  presentation  of  the  same  in  The  Gentle  Soy  (in  Twice 
Told  Tales'),  will  give  the  student  a  most  interesting  bit  of  "parallel 
reading."  332.  rhino,  slang  for  "money."  348.  Eldorado,  land 
of  gold  or  immense  wealth.  373.  'change,  the  stock  exchange. 

BRYANT.  —  Thanatopsis.  —  The  title  is  from  two  Greek  words  mean 
ing  "  a  view  of  death."  12.  the  narrow  house,  the  grave.  17.  Tet 
a  few  days.  The  poem  as  first  published  began  with  these  words. 
28.  the  rude  swain,  etc.  Cf.  Hamlet,  V,  i,  83  ff.  51.  Barcan 
wilderness,  in  northern  Africa.  66.  bed  with  thee.  Poem  as  first 
published  ended  here. 

Waterfowl.  —  This  poem  is  a  meditation  on  an  actual  flight  of  a 
bird  observed  by  the  poet.  10.  marge,  poetic  word  for  "  margin." 

Forest  Hymn.  —  3.  architrave,  in  classical  architecture,  that  part 
of  a  building  which  rests  directly  on  the  capitals  of  the  pillars. 
5.  vault,  in  Gothic  architecture,  the  arch  which  itself  forms  the 
roof  or  supports  a  separate  roof.  11.  stilly,  poetic  word.  26-28.  See 
Genesis,  I,  11-12.  45.  instinct  (accented  on  second  syllable),  filled. 

Death  of  the  Flowers.  —  25  ff.  These  lines  refer  to  the  poet's 
beloved  sister,  who  had  died  the  year  before. 

Fringed  Gentian.  —  Cf .  Wordsworth's  four  poems  on  the  daisy  and 
three  on  the  celandine. 

Gladness  of  Nature.  —  One  of  the  few  nature-poems  of  Bryant 
which  have  no  moral.  Not  seldom  it  seems  very  loosely  joined  to 
the  poem,  as  in  To  the  Fringed  Gentian  and  To  a  Waterfowl;  but 
for  Bryant  the  moral  was  always  just  as  real  and  just  as  iinpor- 


[pp.  103-123]  NOTES  347 

tant  as  the  rest  of  his  meditation — the  description  of  the  natural 
object. 

COOPER. — Ariel  and  Alacrity. — The  scene  of  most  of  The  Pilot 
is  the  northeastern  coast  of  England  ;  the  time,  December,  1778. 
1.  English  cutter,  the  Alacrity.  7.  Barnstable,  commander  of 
the  American  schooner  Ariel.  12.  The  cockswain,  "Long  Tom" 
Coffin,  is  one  of  the  notable  characters  of  English  fiction,  worthy  to 
rank  with  Cooper's  two  other  creations  —  Leather-Stocking  and 
Harvey  Birch.  9.  in  the  wind's  eye,  against  the  wind.  40.  bolt- 
ropes,  ropes  stitched  to  the  edge  of  sails.  66.  his  namesake,  the 
cannon,  called  "Long  Tom."  75.  long  bowls,  a  game  somewhat 
like  tenpins.  79.  dub,  trim.  Trimming  a  gamecock  for  a  fight  is 
called  "dubbing."  114.  curmudgeon  is  hardly  a  suitable  name 
for  the  boy ;  but  Tom's  anger  is  not  very  accurate  in  expressing 
itself.  Besides,  he  probably  did  not  know  the  meaning  of  the  word, 
but  attached  it  to  his  vocabulary  as  a  good  "  mouth-filling  "  term  of 
abuse.  181.  soldiers.  A  party  of  British  troopers  were  watching 
the  contest  from  the  cliff.  260.  Merry,  the  boy  who  earlier  had  so 
stirred  Tom's  anger. 

HALLECK.  —  Marco  Bozzaris.  —  13.  Suliote,  native  of  Suli  in 
Epirus,  where  Bozzaris  was  born.  16.  Persian ;  probably  Xerxes 
is  meant,  though  the  Persian  commander  defeated  at  Platcea  was 
Mardonius.  When  this  battle  was  fought,  Xerxes  had  returned  to 
Persia,  after  his  own  defeat  in  the  sea  fight  of  Salamis.  38.  Moslem, 
Mohammedan.  75.  Indian  isles,  the  West  Indies.  76.  Genoese, 
Columbus. 

CALHOUN.  — 18.  twenty-four  sovereign  powers.  The  debate  be 
tween  Calhoun  and  Webster  took  place  in  1833.  61-62.  Calhoun's 
last  prediction  has  come  true ;  for  we  have  chairs  of  political  science 
everywhere,  and  not  a  few  "  schools  of  diplomacy." 

WEBSTER.  —  If  time  serves,  the  study  of  Calhoun  and  Webster  here 
might  well  be  preceded  by  at  least  a  rapid  reading  of  the  debate  three 
years  earlier  between  Robert  Y.  Hayne  and  Webster.  43.  gloss, 
marginal  note.  72.  Mirabeau,  French  statesman  of  the  Revolution. 
He  and  Napoleon  are  commonly  regarded  as  the  greatest  figures 
who  appeared  in  that  momentous  period.  107  ff.  The  student 
would  do  well  to  follow  Webster's  argument  with  a  good  American 
history  —  or  better,  with  two  histories,  one  written  from  Webster's 


348  NOTES  [pp.  125-137] 

point  of  view,  the  other  from  Calhoun's.  Even  H.  C.  Lodge,  how. 
ever,  Webster's  biographer  and.  certainly  in  sympathy  with  his  sub- 
ject,  says  that  the  Massachusetts  statesman's  argument  was  histori 
cally  unsound. 

LINCOLN.  —  Showing  His  Hand.  —  New  Salem  was  in  Sangamon 
County,  Illinois.  Lincoln  at  the  time  of  this  letter  was  serving  his 
first  term  in  the  legislature.  Hugh  L.  White  was  the  candidate  of 
the  Whig  party. 

Speech  Leaving  Springfield.  —  If  we  had  nothing  of  Lincoln's  but 
this,  there  would  be  slight  ground  for  questioning  his  religion,  as 
has  frequently  been  done. 

Gettysburg  Address.  —  This  speech  was  delivered  at  the  dedication 
of  the  national  cemetery  at  Gettysburg  a  few  months  after  the  great 
battle. 

TIMROD.  —  A  Cry  to  Arms.  —  The  second  of  Thnrod's  remarkable 
series  of  poems  growing  out  of  incidents  of  the  war.  The  first  was 
Ethnogenesis.  6.  byre,  cowhouse,  cot,  cottage,  i.e.,  home. 

Flower-Life.  — 41.  Sibyl-leaves,  valuable  fragmentary  writings 
easily  scattered  or  lost. 

HAYNE.  —  Beauregard's  Appeal.  —  Early  in  1862  General  Beaure- 
gard  appealed  to  the  people  of  the  Mississippi  valley  to  give  up  planta 
tion-bells  to  be  moulded  into  cannon.  Not  only  was  this  request 
granted:  churches  gave  up  their  bells,  and  women  offered  brass 
candlesticks  and  andirons. 

Forgotten.  —  29.   Supply  "  that "  before  "  Its." 

Axe  and  Pine.  —  This  poem  and  Poets  are  excellent  examples  of 
the  sonnet,  a  form  in  which  few  poets  have  been  strikingly  success 
ful.  Longfellow  is  the  greatest  American  sonnet-writer.  For  a  satis 
factory  brief  treatment  of  the  sonnet,  see  Corson,  Primer  of  English 
Verse,  Chapter  X. 

Poets  will  repay  careful  study  of  substance  as  well  as  of  form. 

POE.  —  To  Helen.  —  Of  this  poem  Lowell  said  :  "  There  is  a  little 
dimness  in  the  filling  up,  but  the  grace  and  symmetry  of  the  outline 
are  such  as  few  poets  ever  attain.  .  .  .  The  melody  of  the  whole, 
too,  is  remarkable.  It  is  not  of  that  kind  which  can  be  demonstrated 
arithmetically  upon  the  tips  of  the  fingers.  It  is  of  that  finer  sort 
which  the  inner  ear  alone  can  estimate.  It  seems  simple,  like  a 
Greek  column,  because  of  its  perfection."  2.  Nicean,  Poe  prob- 


[pp.  138-148]  NOTES  349 

ably  used  this  word  with  no  definite  place  in  mind,  merely  suggesting 
something  distant.  So  the  wanderer  of  line  4,  though  some  have 
thought  it  an  allusion  to  Ulysses,  is  perhaps  not  meant  to  indicate 
any  man  in  particular.  7.  hyacinth  here  means  simply  "beau 
tiful."  It  was  a  favorite  epithet  with  the  poet.  8.  The  Naiads 
were  nymphs  who  presided  over  fountains,  lakes,  brooks,  and  wells. 
9-10.  These  lines  originally  read  : 

"  To  the  beauty  of  fair  Greece, 
And  the  grandeur  of  old  Rome." 

It  would  be  a  good  exercise  to  find  out  how  the  revision  is  an  im 
provement.  14.  Psyche,  the  soul.  Cf.  Ulalume,  line  12. 

Israfel.  —  5.  giddy,  whirling  rapidly.  12.  levin,  lightning. 

23.  skies  is  the  object  of  trod.  45-51.  The  thought  of  this  stanza 
—  the  influence  of  environment  on  what  one  accomplishes  —  is  ex 
pressed  elsewhere  by  Poe. 

Haunted  Palace.  —  Poe  explained  that  the  haunted  palace  sym 
bolizes  "  a  mind  haunted  by  phantoms."  In  a  letter  he  asserted 
that  Longfellow's  Beleaguered  City  (page  204)  was  taken  from  this 
poem,  claiming  that  even  the  versification  was  copied.  The  student 
might  well  compare  the  two  to  see  how  far  Poe's  charge  was  justified. 
9-10.  These  lines  show  Poe's  careful  choice  of  words  for  their  sound 
value.  Note  also  The  Haven,  13,  71,  Ulalume,  5,  18-19,  Annabel 
Lee,  34.  He  was  fond  of  words  containing  long  vowels  and  sus 
tainable  consonants.  22.  Porphyrogene,  born  to  the  purple. 

Raven. — See  first  note  on  Short-Story  below.  10.  Poe  used  the 
name  Lenore  in  several  other  places.  Others  that  he  used,  to  some 
extent  at  least  for  their  sound  value,  are  "Eleonora,"  "Berenice," 
"  Morella."  41.  Pallas,  or  Minerva,  goddess  of  wisdom  ;  a  suitable 
bust  for  a  student's  room,  said  Poe.  89.  Balm  in  Gilead.  See 
Jeremiah,  VIII,  22.  93.  Aidenn,  a  variant  of  "Eden";  here  it 
means  any  delightful  place.  101.  Here  it  becomes  apparent,  says 
Poe,  that  the  raven  is  "emblematical  of  Mournful  and  Never-ending 
Remembrance.'1'' 

Annabel  Lee  is  supposed  to  have  been  inspired  by  the  memory  of 
the  poet's  child- wife. 

Ulalume.  —  N.  P.  Willis,  friend  and  admirer  of  Poe,  said  that 
this  poem  is  "  full  of  beauty  and  oddity  in  sentiment  and  versifica 
tion,  but  a  curiosity  (and  a  delicious  one,  we  think)  in  philologic 
flavor."  Professor  Pattee  thinks  its  meaning  is  perfectly  clear— it 


350  NOTES  [pp.  149-169] 

is  an  allegory — "the  epitome  of  Foe's  last  years"  ;  "the  marvelous 
repetition  .  .  .  shows  that  the  poet's  mind  was  in  a  state  almost  oi 
collapse."  See  the  Chautauquan,  Vol.  31,  pp.  182-186  (May,  1900). 
Pattee  expounds  the  "  allegory  "  in  great  detail,  but  is  not  altogether 
convincing. 

Morella.  —  8.  Eros,  love.  20.  Presburg,  ancient  capital  of  Hun 
gary,  and  one  of  its  finest  cities.  45.  Hinnon  became  the  Gehenna. 
Before  being  defiled  by  Josiah  (see  2  Kings,  XXIII,  10)  the  valley 
of  Hinnon  south  of  Jerusalem  formed  part  of  the  royal  gardens. 
53.  Pantheism,  etc.  It  would  be  quite  useless  for  the  student  to 
attempt  to  understand  even  the  names  here.  They  are  given  merely 
as  specimens  of  abstruse  philosophies.  58.  Locke,  John;  chief 
work,  Essay  on  the  Human  Understanding.  118.  Pcestum,  ancient 
Greek  city  of  Lucania  (southern  part  of  Italy).  119.  play  the 
Teian  with  time  seems  to  mean  "  enjoy  a  care-free  sort  of  existence." 
The  Teian  is  probably  put  for  Anacreon,  the  Greek  lyric  poet,  who 
was  born  at  Teos  in  Ionia.  He  wrote  many  poems  in  praise  of  love 
and  wine,  and  was  a  favorite  at  the  courts  of  several  rulers.  175.  A 
lustrum  (plural,  lustra  )  is  five  years. 

Short-Story. — The  theory  of  poetry  set  forth  in  the  first  para 
graph  here  Poe  repeated  in  many  places.  One  of  the  most  interesting 
for  the  young  student  is  The  Philosophy  of  Composition,  which 
purports  to  tell  how  The  Haven  was  composed.  (The  essay  may  be 
had  in  several  cheap  editions.)  28.  De  Beranger,  a  French  poet 
prominent  in  Poe's  day.  34.  In  medio,  etc.  ;  A  happy  medium  is 
safest.  79.  tales  of  ratiocination,  tales  in  which  acute  reasoning  is 
used ;  sometimes  spoken  of  as  analytical  tales.  The  best  examples 
are  Poe's  own  —  The  Gold- Bug,  The  Purloined  Letter,  Murders  in  the 
Eue  Morgue.  Sir  Conan  Doyle's  stories  of  Sherlock  Holmes  are  later 
examples  of  the  same  kind.  The  models  for  these,  by  the  way,  Doyle 
unhesitatingly  asserted  were  Poe's  tales  just  mentioned.  91.  par 
parenthese,  parenthetically. 

HAWTHORNE. — May-Pole. — See  the  reading  from  Bradford,  page 
15.  70.  Comus,  god  of  mirth.  See  Milton's  masque.  98.  Clerk 
of  Oxford,  minister  educated  at  Oxford  University.  195.  St. 
John's  Day  is  Dec.  27.  300.  Endicott,  colonial  governor  of  Massa 
chusetts,  severe  in  his  treatment  of  "heretics."  He  figures  also  in 
another  of  the  Twice  Told  Tales  —  Endicott  and  the  Red  Cross. 
303.  Blackstone,  the  clerk  of  line  98.  328.  Ancient,  standard  bearer. 


[pp.  172-189]  NOTES  351 

Drowne's  Wooden  Image.  — 10.  Fayal,  one  of  the  Azores  islands 
(pronounced  Fl-aT).  30.  Neptune,  god  of  the  sea.  38.  When  the 
story  has  been  completed,  it  would  be  interesting  to  discuss  what 
was  Hunnewell's  "secret";  also  the  "mystery  in  the  carver's 
conduct"  (110).  63.  Parian,  from  Paros,  one  of  the  Cyclades,  a 
group  of  islands  in  the  JEgean  Sea.  Carrara,  a  city  of  Tuscany, 
Italy.  68.  Galen  (second  century  A.D.),  and  Hippocrates  (fifth 
century  B.C.),  famous  Greek  physicians.  The  latter  was  called  the 
"father  of  medicine."  129.  hamadryad,  in  classical  mythology,  a 
nymph  whose  life  is  bound  up  with  that  of  her  tree.  151.  What 
a  wide  distinction,  etc.  This  thought  is  expressed  in  several  other 
places  by  Hawthorne  —  e.g.,  in  The  Marble  Faun,  Chapter  XIII,  and 
in  the  Italian  Note-Book,  under  Feb.  14,  1858.  205.  Pygmalion,  a 
mythological  sculptor  who  made  a  statue  of  Galatea,  with  which  he 
fell  in  love,  and  which,  in  response  to  his  prayer,  Venus  endowed  with 
life.  425.  witch  times.  The  famous  witch-trials  took  place  in  Salein 
in  1692-1693.  448.  statuary,  sculptor.  471.  Province  House,  home 
of  the  colonial  governors  of  Massachusetts.  See  Hawthorne's  descrip 
tion  of  it  at  the  beginning  of  Howe's  Masquerade,  in  Twice  Told  Tales. 

MOTLEY.  —  William,  Prince  of  Orange  and  Count  of  Nassau,  called 
"the  Silent"  (1533-1584),  was  the  founder  of  the  Dutch  Kepublic. 
The  tour  described  took  place  in  August,  1577.  2.  little  provinces, 
i.e.,  the  fifteen  states  which  with  Holland  and  Zealand  had  united  in 
the  Pacification  of  Ghent  to  drive  out  the  Spaniards.  The  Pacification 
had  been  signed  in  November  preceding  William's  tour.  5.  Father 
William.  Since  the  union  of  the  provinces  was  due  more  to  William's 
efforts  than  to  any  one  else's,  he  was  very  appropriately  called  the 
father  of  his  country.  16.  states-general,  the  "Congress"  of  the 
provinces.  Don  John  [of  Austria],  youngest  son  of  Charles  V  of 
Spain,  and  half-brother  of  Philip  II.  His  mother  was  a  peasant  of 
low  birth.  Philip  appointed  him  governor  of  the  Netherlands  in  1576. 
36.  seizure  ofNamur  Castle,  by  Don  John.  As  the  commandant  came 
out  to  welcome  the  governor,  he  was  arrested,  and  the  entire  garrison, 
composed  of  old  men,  turned  out.  38.  John  Taffin,  an  eminent  minis 
ter  of  the  Eeformed  Church ;  Philip  Marnix,  Baron  Saint  Aldegonde. 
Both  were  devoted  adherents  of  William.  64.  treaty  of  Marche  en 
Famine,  also  called  the  "  Perpetual  Edict,"  an  agreement  between  Don 
John  and  the  little  provinces  —  Holland  and  Zealand,  under  William's 
influence,  refusing  to  sign.  In  less  than  a  year  the  states-general  de- 


352  NOTES  [pp.  189-206] 

clared  that  Don  John  (who  had  wisely  fled)  was  no  "longer  an  officei 
of  the  country,  and  was  really  its  enemy.  73.  Escovedo,  Juan, 
a  Spaniard,  close  friend  of  Don  John.  118.  The  convention  of 
"Satisfaction,"  which  granted  William's  demands  for  religious  tolera 
tion,  was  signed  about  two  months  after  his  visit.  126.  episcopal 
city,  seat  of  a  bishop.  The  bishopric  of  Utrecht  dates  from  the  eighth 
century.  144.  ancient  church,  the  Roman  Catholic. 

EMERSON. — Ehodora. —  11-12.  The  lines  answer  the  question 
heading  the  poem. 

Concord  Hymn.  —  The  battle  of  Lexington  and  Concord  took  place 
April  19,  1775. 

Humble-See.  — 16.  Epicurean,  one  who  believes  that  pleasure  is 
the  chief  aim  of  life. 

Terminus.  —  When  he  wrote  this  poem  (1867),  he  realized  that 
*'his  working  days  were  nearly  done,"  says  his  son,  Dr.  E.  W. 
Emerson.  28.  Baresark,  or  "berserk,"  a  Scandinavian  warrior 
who  fought  without  armor. 

Nature  of  Government.  —  The  cutting  from  Lowell's  essay  (page 
252)  should  be  given  at  least  a  rapid  reading  before  reading  this  of 
Emerson's.  17-18.  These  two  short  sentences  are  typical  of  Emer 
son.'  They  furnish  food  for  much  thought,  yet  it  is  doubtful  whether 
we  ever  get  from  them  his  full  meaning.  56.  The  essay  on  Politics 
was  published  in  1844,  but  contained  portions  of  a  lecture  given  in 
1836.  The  student  should  find  out  what  was  the  political  situation 
in  the  United  States  in  those  years.  85.  Botany  Bay,  in  Australia. 
The  name  is  commonly  used  as  the  equivalent  of  "  penal  colony  "  ; 
but  such  a  colony  was  never  located  there.  The  British  planned  to 
establish  it  at  Botany  Bay,  but  found  a  more  desirable  site  near  the 
present  city  of  Sydney.  95.  Fisher  Ames,  American  orator  and 
statesman  (1758-1808).  106.  fact  oj  two  poles,  etc.  This  idea  is 
repeatedly  expressed  by  Emerson,  and  is  fully  developed  in  the  essay 
Compensation. 

THOREAU. —  Coming  of  the  Birds. — 60.  Anacreon,  Greek  lyric 
poet,  fifth  century  B.C. 

LONGFELLOW. — Beleaguered  City. — 4.  Prague,  capital  of  Bohe 
mia,  Austria  ;  it  is  situated  on  the  Moldau  River.  See  note  on 
Haunted  Palace,  above. 

Building  of  Ship.  --37.   /  wis,  here  used  (as  generally)  as  an  old- 


[pp.  207-235]  NOTES  353 

fashioned  expression  for  "I  know."  It  really  is  from  Anglo-Saxon 
gewis,  an  adverb  meaning  "  certainly."  61.  Pascagoula,  in  Missis 
sippi.  62.  Roanoke,  river  in  Virginia  and  North  Carolina. 
161.  Lascar,  an  East  Indian  sailor.  178.  stemson,  keelson,  sternson 
knee,  timbers  of  a  ship.  382-7.  The  student  will  recall  that  the 
"Master"  and  several  of  the  chief  "Workmen"  are  represented 
in  the  second  group  of  our  readings  (pages  24-49). 

Hiawatha.  — 12.  Dacotahs.  Hiawatha  was  an  Ojibway  (line 
166).  14.  Nokomis,  Hiawatha's  grandmother,  who  reared  him. 
86.  chalcedony.  Accented  here  on  the  first  and  third  syllables. 

Birds.  —  This  poem  is  founded  on  a  tradition  connected  with  the 
town  of  Killingworth,  Connecticut.  2.  merle,  blackbird,  mavis, 
thrush.  11-12.  See  Matthew,  X,  29,  31 ;  Luke,  XII,  6-7.  17.  Sound, 
Long  Island.  Killingworth  is  about  10  miles  from  the  Sound. 
30.  Cassandra-like,  etc.  Cassandra,  daughter  of  Priam,  king  of 
Troy,  prophesied  evil  to  her  city.  43.  Squire,  Justice  of  the  Peace. 
51.  See  the  reading  from  Edwards,  page  21,  above.  89.  Plato, 
Greek  philosopher,  fourth  century  B.C.,  in  a  work  called  the  Republic, 
set  forth  his  ideal  of  government.  Reviewers.  Longfellow  doubtless 
refers  to  the  magazines  of  the  early  nineteenth  century  —  Edinburgh 
Review,  Quarterly,  and  others — which  severely  criticized  Wordsworth 
and  others  of  the  so-called  "Romantic"  school,  sometimes  denying 
them  any  claim  to  the  title  of  poet.  93.  Troubadours,  lyric  poets 
of  Italy,  Spain,  and  especially  Southern  France,  twelfth  and  thirteenth 
centuries,  who  sang  chiefly  of  love.  96.  See  1  Samuel,  XVI,  14-23. 
184.  St.  Bartholomew.  On  St.  Bartholomew's  Day  (Aug.  24),  1572, 
there  was  a  terrible  massacre  of  Protestants  and  Huguenots  in  Paris. 
193.  See  Acts,  XII,  20-23.  212.  Doom's-Day  Book,  properly 
"Domesday"  (day  of  judgment),  a  valuation-survey  of  England 
made  by  William  the  Conqueror.  It  made  taxation  on  a  sound  basis 
possible,  besides  being  a  census  roll  and  a  record  of  estate  valuations. 
The  nickname  came  from  the  fact  that  in  the  eyes  of  the  people  it 
was  like  the  great  reckoning  of  doomsday. 

Hanging  of  Crane.  —  "  This  is  the  story  of  life,"  said  Longfellow, 
"the  sweet  and  pathetic  poem  of  the  fireside."  72.  Canute  was 
king  of  England  from  1017  to  1035.  He  was  a  small  man ;  and  the 
early  part  of  his  reign  was  characterized  by  great  barbarity  and 
severity.  Which  of  these  facts  has  Longfellow  in  mina  in  giving  the 
baby  this  name  ?  108.  Ariadne's  Crown  After  Ariadne  was  de 
serted  by  Theseus,  she  was  wooed  and  WOTJ  by  Bacchus,  who  gave  her 


354  NOTES  [pp.  236-250] 

a  golden  crown.     After  her  death,  Bacchus  made  a  heavenly  constella 
tion  of  the  crown.       148.    Cathay,  China. 

Cross  of  Snow.  —  A  sonnet  commemorating  the  death  by  fire  of 
the  poet's  wife.  With  characteristic  reserve  and  self-control,  Long 
fellow  made  no  record  of  the  great  sorrow  except  this  short  lyric 
eighteen  years  after  the  event,  and  then  did  not  print  it. 

LOWELL.  —  My  Love.  —  This  poem  was  composed  about  the  time 
the  poet  became  engaged  to  Maria  White. 

Freedom. — Written  in  1843.  Few  men  of  Lowell's  position  and 
ability  were  then  outspoken  in  opposition  to  slavery. 

Commemoration  Ode. — This  poem  was  dedicated  "  To  the  ever 
sweet  and  shining  memory  of  the  ninety-three  sons  of  Harvard 
College  who  have  died  for  their  country  in  the  war  of  nationality." 
23.  Veritas,  truth.  In  1643  the  seal  of  Harvard  was  adopted  —  a 
shield  with  three  open  books  bearing  the  word  Veritas.  49.  her  (as 
elsewhere  in  this  section)  refers  to  "truth"  (line  28).  66-70. 
See  1  Kings,  XVIII,  17-46.  95.  Lincoln  was  assassinated  three 
months  before  the  Ode  was  written.  The  form  read  at  the  com 
memoration  exercises  did  not  contain  section  VI ;  but,  as  has  often 
been  remarked,  it  follows  V  so  naturally  and  effectively  that  it  does 
not  seem  like  an  afterthought.  129  ff.  "Or  if  there  was  anything 
of  Europe  in  him,  it  was  Europe  in  its  early  days  (fronting  morn- 
ward},  when  there  were  no  hereditary  distinctions  of  rank." 
134.  Plutarch' >s  men.  See  note  on  Irving's  Stuyvesant,  line  17. 
152.  The  first  American.  Cf.  Grady,  page  275.  167.  dear  ones. 
Three  nephews  of  Lowell  and  five  other  relatives  fell  in  the  war. 
174.  See  Numbers,  XIII,  1-2,  21-24.  181.  Line  means:  "We 
shall  never  be  without  their  glorified  presence."  230.  Katahdin, 
MonadnocTc,  Whiteface,  mountains ;  in  Maine,  New  Hampshire, 
and  Colorado,  respectively. 

Old  Elm. — 3—5.  Washington  expressed  himself  as  thinking  he 
was  almost  miraculously  spared  at  Braddock's  defeat  in  the  French 
and  Indian  War.  6.  gown  to  arms  had  yielded.  Several  of  the 
Harvard  buildings  were  used  for  military  purposes.  25-26.  "ready 
to  vote  down  the  religious  doctrine  of  Freewill,  but  inclined  to  be 
very  free  in  the  exercise  of  their  own  will."  42.  buff  and  blue, 
the  colors  of  the  Continental  uniform.  44.  "  I  seem  to  see  the 
sun-flecks  weave  halos  prophetic  of  glory  round  the  head  of  Wash 
ington,  which  have  not  grown  less  glorious  with  his  passing,  but 


[pp.  251-256]  NOTES  355 

continue  our  guiding  light."  72.  In  section  VIII,  Lowell  said, 
he  "held  out  a  hand  of  kindly  reconciliation  to  Virginia." 
79.  inevitable  wrong,  the  War  between  the  States.  93.  During 
the  eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries  the  Church  enforced  cessation 
of  hostilities  at  certain  periods.  Such  cessation  was  called  the  Truce 
of  God. 

Emerson  the  Lecturer.  —  5.  King  Logs.  "The  frogs  prayed  to 
Jove  to  send  them  a  king,  and  the  god  threw  a  log  into  the  pool, 
the  splash  of  which  terribly  alarmed  them  for  a  time ;  but  they  soon 
learnt  to  despise  a  monarch  who  allowed  them  to  jump  upon  its 
back,  and  never  resented  their  familiarities.  The  croakers  com 
plained  to  Jove  for  sending  them  so  worthless  a  king."  (Brewer's 
Readers  Handbook.)  10.  What  they  do  not  fully  understand, 
etc.  Most  readers  of  Emerson  take  this  attitude,  just  as  his 
hearers  did.  12.  old  poet,  Matthew  Koydon,  friend  of  Sidney, 
Spenser,  Marlowe,  and  other  famous  poets  of  the  later  sixteenth 
century.  The  lines  quoted  are  from  an  Elegie  written  by  Roy  don 
on  Sidney's  death.  19.  spread-eagle,  noisily  patriotic.  20.  We 
are  reckoned.  This  and  the  next  sentence  are  somewhat  in  Emer 
son's  cryptic  style.  24.  Buncombe  constituency,  body  of  support 
ers  who  wish  their  representative  to  do  a  great  deal  of  talking  in  a 
high-flown  style,  even  if  he  seldom  touches  any  subject  of  interest  or 
importance.  See  "Buncombe"  in  the  International  Dictionary. 
25.  Plotinus,  Egyptian  philosopher  of  the  third  century.  28.  Vedas 
are  the  sacred  books  of  India.  40.  Brahma  is  the  title  of  one  of 
Emerson's  most  obscure  poems.  44.  Montaigne,  French  essayist. 
57.  Epistol(K,  etc.,  Letters  of  Obscure  Men.  64.  Rev.  Thomas 
Fuller  and  Sir  Thomas  Browne  were  great  writers  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  but  the  average  person  would  not  admire  them  as  Lowell 
does.  65.  abominable  word.  This  was  written  in  1868.  The  word 
is  now,  of  course,  firmly  established  in  the  language.  It  was  ob 
jected  to  on  the  ground  of  irregularity  of  formation.  71.  The 
many,  etc.  This  sentence  is  worthy  of  the  student's  best  thinking. 
It  and  the  one  following  are  quite  Emersonian.  89.  as  old  as  I  am. 
Lowell  was  forty-nine.  101.  "plain  living  and  high  thinking," 
quoted  from  a  sonnet  of  Wordsworth  beginning,  "O  Friend!  I 
know  not  which  way  I  must  look."  '  136.  ere  one  can  say  it  light 
ens.  See  Romeo  and  Juliet,  II,  ii,  120.  146.  consulate  for  "presi 
dency"  is  merely  a  mild  witticism  —  the  sort  of  thing  that  occasion 
ally  mars  Lowell's  best  work.  153.  remainder-biscuit.  See  ^4s 


356  NOTES  [pp.  257-259] 

You  Like  It,  II,  vii,  39.  164.  stocks,  machine  for  punishing  by 
putting  the  arms  or  legs  of  an  offender  in  a  cramped  position. 
165.  And  who  that  saw.  The  remainder  of  this  paragraph  is 
characteristic  of  the  author  —  four  sentences  of  prose  that  is  only 
just  short  of  poetry,  followed  by  three  familiar  and  humorous  ones. 
He  once  said  he  was  "a  kind  of  twins,  divided  between  grave  and 
gay."  181.  vegete,  lively.  185.  fugleman,  leader.  The  student 
has  doubtless  already  discovered  Lowell's  fondness  for  uncommon 
words.  It  was  not  affectation,  but  the  result  of  continued  and  loving 
study  of  older  English  writers.  186.  Titian,  Venetian  painter. 
Assumption,  reception  of  the  Virgin  Mary  into  heaven ;  a  favorite 
subject  with  the  old  masters.  193.  saved  us,  etc.  See  Romans, 
VII,  24.  205.  we  should  not  have  been  careful  for  an  answer. 
See  Daniel,  III,  16.  215.  Che  in  la  mente,  etc.  From  Dante's 
Inferno,  Canto  XV,  lines  82-85  : 

"  For  in  my  mind  is  fixed,  and  touches  now 
My  heart  the  dear  and  good  paternal  image 
Of  you,  when  in  the  world  from  hour  to  hour 
You  taught  me  how  a  man  becomes  eternal." 

(Longfellow's  translation.) 

White's  Selborne.  —  According  to  the  Diet.  Nat.  Biog.  this  book, 
which  so  arouses  Lowell's  enthusiasm,  is  "  the  only  work  on  natural 
history  which  has  attained  the  rank  of  an  English  classic."  Sel 
borne  is  in  Sussex  county,  about  fifty  miles  southwest  of  London. 
8.  Fellow  of  Oriel.  In  English  universities  a  student  may  be  a 
Fellow  and  receive  a  regular  income  from  the  institution  for  a  much 
longer  period  than  is  possible  in  America.  Oriel,  one  of  the  colleges 
of  Oxford.  11.  hobby-horse,  now  usually  "hobby."  A  subject, 
theory,  occupation,  to  which  a  person  devotes  a  great  deal  of  time 
and  attention,  without  earning  his  living  thereby.  13.  Barrington, 
Pennant  (Thos.).  White's  book  is  in  the  form  of  letters  to  these 
English  naturalists  and  friends  of  his.  15.  Izaak  Walton,  an 
English  writer  immortalized  by  a  book  in  praise  of  the  sport  of  fish 
ing —  The  Complete  Angler.  16.  William  Cowper  (pronounced 
Cooper),  English  poet.  The  following  lines  from  his  The  Task, 
Book  VI,  indicate  what  Lowell  had  in  mind  : 

"  I  would  not  enter  on  my  list  of  friends 
(Though  graced  with  polished  manners  and  fine  sense, 


[pp.  259-263]  NOTES  357 

Yet  wanting  sensibility)  the  man 

Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm." 

26.  his  parishioners.  White  was  minister  as  well  as  naturalist. 
31.  Annihilating,  etc.  From  The  Garden,  by  Andrew  Marvell,  Eng 
lish  poet  (seventeenth  century).  35.  See  great  Diocletian  walk,  etc. 
The  editor  is  unable  to  place  this  passage.  Lowell's  reading  covered 
an  enormous  range,  many  apparently  not  striking  passages  stuck  in 
his  memory,  and  he  often  failed  to  quote  accurately.  These  facts  make 
very  difficult  the  identification  of  many  of  his  quotations  and  allusions. 
The  Roman  emperor  Diocletian  after  his  abdication  (305  A.D.)  retired 
to  Salona  (modern  Spalato)  in  Dalmatia,  where  he  built  a  magnificent 
palace  with  extensive  gardens.  39.  revolt  of  the  American  colonies. 
White's  book  was  in  preparation  from  1773  to  1789.  47.  Char 
treuse,  a  Carthusian  (austere)  monastery ;  hence,  a  quiet  retreat. 
54.  fauna,  animals  inhabiting  a  region.  57.  anthropophagous,  man- 
eating.  60.  our  share  of  owls.  What  does  he  mean  here  by 
"owls"?  64.  Francis  Willoughby  and  John  Hay  were  English 
naturalists  about  a  hundred  years  before  White.  65.  stilted  plover. 
"  In  the  last  week  of  last  month,  five  of  those  most  rare  birds,  too 
uncommon  to  have  obtained  an  English  name,  but  known  to  natural 
ists  by  the  terms  of  himantopus,  or  loripes  and  charadrius  himantopus 
were  shot.  .  .  .  One  of  these  specimens  I  procured.  .  .  .  These 
birds  are  of  the  plover  family,  and  might,  with  propriety,  be  called 
the  stilt-plovers."  —  Nat.  Hist.  Selb.,  Letter  XCI.  78.  Windsor 
Castle,  one  of  the  English  sovereign's  residences,  located  about 
twenty  miles  from  London.  79.  Royal  Society,  the  most  important 
scientific  organization  in  Great  Britain.  90.  Diogenes,  Greek  cynic 
philosopher.  95.  reconstruction.  This  essay  was  written  in  1869, 
when  the  "reconstruction"  of  the  states  of  the  Southern  Confederacy 
was  taking  place.  108.  Martin,  Benjamin,  mathematician  and 

instrument  maker,  who  graduated  the  thermometer  used  at  Selborne. 
118.  abnegated,  renounced.  131.  graduation;  Mercury.  Lowell 
was  as  fond  of  puns  as  was  Holmes.  139.  Barabas,  a  character  in 
Marlowe's  Jew  of  Venice.  140.  "Into  what  quarter,"  etc.  See 
the  Jew,  I,  i,  39.  147.  I  have  little  doubt,  etc.  "This  was  written 
before  we  had  a  Weather  Bureau."  (Lowell's  note  in  the  complete 
edition  of  his  works.)  The  Weather  Bureau  was  not  organized  until 
1891,  but  systematic  work  that  led  to  its  organization  goes  back  to 
1870.  167.  cloaca  maxima,  the  great  sewer 


358  NOTES  [pp.  264-274] 

Democracy.  —  8.  Piccadilly,  one  of  the  finest  streets  in  London, 
where  fashionable  people  promenade.  28.  'Hudson.  The  sum  oi 
£25,000  had  been  raised  for  a  statue  to  the  "railway  king"  while  he 
was  alive ;  but  discovery  that  his  methods  were  highly  dishonorable 
put  an  immediate  stop  to  the  movement.  29.  Louis  Napoleon, 
nephew  of  the  great  Napoleon.  He  became  president  of  France  in 
1848,  and  had  himself  proclaimed  emperor  in  1852.  He  imitated  his 
uncle's  methods,  but  succeeded  only  in  gaining  the  title  of  "  Napoleon 
the  Little."  71.  more  famous  tribune.  See  note  on  Webster,  line 
72.  98.  Robert  Lowe,  Viscount  Sherbrooke,  British  statesman  ;  liv 
ing  when  Lowell  spoke  these  words.  110.  '•'•where  two  men  ride," 
etc.  See  Shakspere's  Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  III,  v,  40.  The 
"very  sagacious  person"  is  a  foolish  constable  named  Dogberry. 
115.  Henry  George,  a  great  politician  of  New  York  City,  advocate 
of  the  single  tax.  At  the  time  of  his  death  in  1898  he  was  a  candi 
date  for  mayor  of  the  city,  with  what  were  thought  to  be  excellent 
chances  of  election.  118.  a  fortiori,  for  a  stronger  reason. 
161.  Be  your  own  palace,  etc.  See  John  Donne's  Letter  to  Sir  Henry 
Wotton,  line  52.  Donne  wrote  "thine  own"  and  "thy  gaol." 
175.  Our  healing,  etc.  See  1  Kings,  XIX,  9-18. 

LANIER. — My  Springs.  — 25.  Note  that  perverse  is  here  accented 
on  the  first  syllable.  52.  Magdalen  and  Ruth;  that  is,  for  bad 
women  and  good  women.  See  Luke,  VII,  36-50  (especially  37,  39) ; 
and  the  book  of  Ruth  (especially  III,  11). 

Chattahoochee. — Habersham  and  Hall  are  counties  in  the  north 
eastern  part  of  Georgia.  As  the  poem  implies,  the  river  rises  in 
Habersham  County.  44.  It  will  be  interesting  for  the  student  to  com 
pare  Lanier's  way  of  bringing  out  his  moral  with  Bryant's. 

[The  editor  regrets  that  arrangements  could  not  be  made  with 
Lanier's  publishers  to  give  the  poet  more  adequate  representation  in 
these  readings.] 

GRADY.  —  The  New  South  was  delivered  in  December,  1886,  at 
the  annual  banquet  of  the  New  England  Society  of  New  York  City. 
He  was  thirty-six  years  old,  the  son  of  a  Confederate  soldier,  and 
the  most  prominent  journalist  in  the  South.  5.  B.  H.  Hill,  a 
noted  Georgia  statesman.  Tammany  Hall,  home  of  the  "regular  " 
branch  of  the  Democratic  party  in  New  York.  54.  Cavalier,  settler 
of  the  Southern  colonies ;  Puritan,  settler  of  New  England. 
64.  Myles  Standish,  the  Puritan  leader  who  enforced  the  severe  laws 


[pp.  275-285]  NOTES  359 

of  his  party.  Longfellow's  The  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish  gives  an 
interesting  presentation  of  his  character.  84.  Talmage,  T.  DeWitt 
(died  1902),  prominent  preacher  whose  sermons  were  widely  printed 
and  read  week  by  week.  90.  the  first  typical  American.  Cf.  Lowell's 
Commemoration  Ode,  section  VI  (page  245).  121.  Appomattox 
Court  House,  Virginia,  where  Lee  surrendered,  April  9,  1865. 
132.  cross,  the  Confederate  flag.  158.  Bill  Arp,  pen-name  of 
Charles  H.  Smith,  a  Georgia  newspaper  man  and  humorist,  whose 
letters  during  and  after  the  war  were  very  popular.  The  name 
"Arp"  he  made  from  the  initial  letters  of  the  phrase,  "A  Rebel 
Private."  167.  a  kind  of  careless  man  about  fire.  Sherman  burned 
Atlanta  on  his  famous  "  march  to  the  sea."  186.  Mason  and  Dixon's 
line,  boundary  between  Maryland  and  Pennsylvania,  named  for  the 
men  who  surveyed  it.  It  was  long  referred  to  as  the  dividing  line 
between  the  Northern  free  states  and  the  Southern  slaveholding 
states.  233.  Toombs,  Robert,  noted  Georgia  soldier  and  statesman. 
237.  chattel,  any  sort  of  property  except  real  estate.  266.  Johnston, 
Gen.  Joseph  E.,  one  of  the  three  or  four  greatest  leaders  of  the  Con 
federates.  275.  toad's  head.  See  Shakspere's  As  You  Like  It,  II, 
i,  12-17.  331.  city  in  which  I  live,  Atlanta.  369.  Those  opened 
eyes,  etc.  See  Shakspere's  1  Henry  IV,  I,  i,  9-15.  "opened  "  is  an 
error  for  "opposed.1' 

CURTIS. — Prue  and  I  is  a  sort  of  novel  dealing  with  an  obscure 
New  York  bookkeeper  and  his  wife.  The  extract  is  from  the  chapter 
called  Sea  and  Shore.  5.  Earlier  in  the  chapter  we  learn  that  the 
supposed  narrator  "  made  the  India  Voyage  "  when  a  small  boy,  by  ex 
ploring  a  ship  from  India  in  some  American  port.  11.  East  India- 
man,  ship  engaged  in  the  East  Indian  trade.  28.  top,  short  for 
"topsail."  33.  Parthenon,  etc.  Many  marble  ornaments  of  the 
Parthenon  at  Athens  were  removed  in  the  years  1803-1812  by  Lord 
Elgin,  who  afterwards  sold  them  to  the  British  government.  They  are 
now  among  the  greatest  treasures  of  the  British  Museum.  Curtis's 
*'  unrifled  "  implies  that  Lord  Elgin's  conduct  was  not  meritorious, 
but  most  people  think  otherwise.  See  Thomas  Bruce,  seventh  Earl 
of  Elgin,  in  Dictionary  of  National  Biography.  37.  Vittoria 
Colonna,  an  Italian  poet  (1490-1547),  who  refused  many  suitors 
both  before  marrying  the  man  of  her  choice,  and  after  his  death. 
Tasso,  famous  Italian  poet  of  the  sixteenth  century.  38.  Villa  d^Este, 
palace  at  Ferrara  of  Cardinal  Luigi  d'Este,  Tasso's  patron.  Beatrice, 


360  NOTES  [pp.  285-292} 

the  inspiration  of  the  Italian  poet  Dante's  whole  life  (1265-1321), 
and  the  central  figure  of  his  The  New  Life  and  of  his  Paradise,  the 
last  section  of  The  Divine  Comedy.  40.  Hotel  Europa,  Daniel? s, 
Leone  Bianco,  popular  resorts  in  Venice  of  the  mid-nineteenth 
century.  41.  Marino  Faliero,  doge  of  Venice  (14th  century), 
who  had  a  young  and  very  beautiful  wife.  44.  Ah  t  senza  amare, 
etc.  :  "  Ah,  there  is  no  consolation  to  walk  along  the  sea  without 
love."  49.  you  and  Aurelia.  Aurelia  was  a  city  belle  whom  the 
narrator  did  not  know  but  admired  from  a  distance  ;  "  you"  was  her 
escort.  St.  Peter's,  cathedral  at  Rome.  62.  Eoxbury  is  now  a 
part  of  Boston.  76.  A  painted  ship,  etc.  See  Coleridge's  Ancient 
Mariner,  lines  117-118. 

Evils  of  Party  Spirit.  —  The  address  from  which  this  selection  is 
taken  was  delivered  before  the  graduating  class  of  Union  College, 
Schenectady,  New  York,  in  1877.  It  is  one  of  the  earliest  and  most 
notable  pleas  for  independence  in  politics.  The  present  strong  ten 
dency  toward  independence  is  probably  due  in  no  small  measure  to 
Curtis's  continued  preaching  of  the  doctrine.  62.  money-changers. 
See  John,  II,  13-16.  92.  Federalists.  See  any  good  history  of  the 
United  States  for  the  party  divisions  during  the  early  days  of  the 
nation.  93.  Jacobins,  the  extreme  republicans  of  the  French  Revolu 
tion.  Robespierre  and  Marat  were  leaders  of  this  party.  110.  Castor 
and  Pollux,  twins.  To  understand  the  passage  fully,  look  up  either 
name  in  an  encyclopedia  or  in  a  handbook  of  mythology.  123.  whips. 
A  whip  is  a  person  designated  by  his  party  to  enforce  discipline.  The 
office  and  name  originated  in  the  British  House  of  Commons,  but  are 
now  used  also  in  the  American  House  of  Representatives.  125.  one 
Senator,  James  W.  Grimes,  of  Iowa.  Though  ill,  he  dragged  himself 
to  the  trial,  and  two  days  after  delivering  his  opinion  in  favor  of  Presi 
dent  Johnson's  acquittal,  was  stricken  with  paralysis.  130,  Inquisi 
tion,  a  court  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  the  business  of  which 
was  to  suppress  heresy.  It  was  finally  abolished  in  1834. 

WHITTIER.  —  To  Garrison.  —  William  Lloyd  Garrison  was  one  of 
the  earliest  and  most  vigorous  opponents  of  slavery.  He  and  Whittier 
were  lifelong  devoted  friends.  3.  Before  the  actual  outbreak  of 
hostilities  Garrison  was  several  times  in  danger  of  death  at  the  hands 
of  mobs  who  disapproved  his  conduct. 

Proem.  —  3.  Spenser,  Edmund,  English  poet  of  the  time  of  Shak- 
spere.  Whittier  has  in  mind  Spenser's  Amoretti,  Prothalamion,  and 


[pp.  292-303]  NOTES  361 

other  lyric  poems,  rather  than  the  better  known  Faerie  Queene. 
4.  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  contemporary  and  friend  of  Spenser,  wrote  a 
romance  called  Arcadia,  and  many  lyrics.  33.  Marvell,  see  note 
on  Lowell's  White's  Selborne,  line  31. 

Ichabod. — The  title-name  of  this  poem  means  "the  glory  is  de 
parted."  (See  1  Samuel,  IV,  21.)  It  was  written  after  Webster's 
Seventh  of  March  Speech  (1850),  which  supported  Clay's  Compromise 
and  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law,  and  which  most  of  the  North  considered  an 
act  of  treachery.  Webster,  however,  had  been  the  champion,  not 
of  the  anti-slavery  forces,  but  of  the  Union  ;  and  he  believed  to  the 
end  that  war  could  be  avoided  if  the  opposing  parties  would  only 
exercise  enough  patience.  The  Lost  Occasion  (p.  303)  should  be  read 
along  with  Ichabod. 

Skipper  Ireson.  —  Years  after  this  poem  was  written  Whittier  was 
told  that  not  Ireson  but  his  crew  committed  the  crime  told  of  in 
stanzas  four  and  five.  He  had  based  the  verses  on  a  bit  of  rhyme  of  a 
schoolmate.  3.  Apuleius's  Golden  Ass  was  a  young  man  who  had 
been  transformed  into  the  animal  but  retained  his  human  conscious 
ness.  4.  Calender's  horse.  The  Tale  of  the  Third  Calender  in 
the  Arabian  Nights  tells  of  one  Agib,  who  was  entrusted  with  the 
keys  of  a  palace  and  given  permission  to  enter  every  room  but  one. 
He  nevertheless  entered  that  one,  mounted  a  horse  he  found  there, 
and  was  carried  through  the  air  to  Bagdad.  The  horse  set  him 
down,  and  with  a  whisk  of  his  tail  knocked  out  Agib's  right  eye. 
6.  Al-Borak,  the  animal  brought  by  Gabriel  to  carry  Mahomet  to 
heaven,  had  the  face  and  voice  of  a  man,  the  cheeks  of  a  horse,  the 
wings  of  an  eagle.  8.  Marblehead,  coast  town  of  Massachusetts. 
6.  Bacchus,  god  of  wine.  30.  Maenads,  female  attendants  of 
Bacchus.  35.  Chaleur  Bay,  an  inlet  of  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence. 

Playmate. — A  tender  recollection  of  a  boyhood  love  —  Whittier 
never  married.  I.  Hamoth  hill  was  near  Amesbury,  the  poet's 
home  from  1836  to  1876;  as  were  the  "woods  of  Follymill" 
(line  36).  59.  The  veery  is  a  kind  of  thrush. 

Laus  Deo.  —  "On  hearing  the  bells  ring  on  the  passage  of  the 
constitutional  amendment  abolishing  slavery."  (Whittier.) 
19.  See  note  on  Lowell's  Democracy,  line  175.  27  ff.  See 
Exodus,  XV,  21. 

Lost  Occasion.  —  3.  Thou,  Daniel  Webster.  See  note  on  Icha 
bod.  This  poem  was  written  in  1880.  11.  Olympian,  godlike. 
15.  Phidias,  the  greatest  sculptor  of  Greece.  17.  Ccedmon, 


362  NOTES  [pp.  304-308] 

English  poet  of  about  the  seventh  century.  23.  Norse  god,  Odin. 
24.  Talus,  the  groom  of  Sir  Artegal  in  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene 
(book  V,  canto  1,  stanza  xii),  carried  an  iron  flail, 

"  With  which  he  threshed  out  falsehood,  and  did  truth  unfold." 
51.    See.  Judges,  XVI,  6-9.         74  ff.    Mount   Webster  (3876  feet), 
in  the  White  Mountains,  about  sixty  miles  from  Webster's  birthplace. 

WHITMAN.  —  Whitman  is  the  most  individual  poet  in  our  literature  ; 
and  his  admirers  assert  that  he  must  not  be  judged  by  the  methods 
used  in  judging  other  poets.  John  Burroughs,  the  most  noted 
American  champion  of  the  "sage  of  Camden,"  says:  "We  can 
make  little  of  Whitman  unless  we  allow  him  to  be  a  law  unto  him 
self,  seek  him  through  the  clues  which  he  himself  brings.  When  we 
try  him  by  current  modes,  current  taste,  ...  we  are  disappointed." 
Sydney  Dobell,  English  critic,  says:  "It  is  the  American  poet's  first 
demand  upon  us  that  we  shall  dismiss  our  prepossessions  in  favor  of 
the  poets  of  culture  from  our  minds  —  not  asking  whether  he  conforms 
to  the  rules  which  we  apply  to  them,  but  whether  he  has  a  new  mes 
sage  for  the  world,  which  demands  a  new  and  freer  method  for  its  fit 
expression.  If  we  are  not  willing  thus  to  reconsider  our  established 
ideas  as  to  the  art  of  poetry,  we  had  better  conclude  that  Whitman 
has  no  message  for  us,  and  concern  ourselves  no  further  about 
him." 

If  these  statements  hold,  it  should  be  easier  for  young  readers, 
who  have  fewer  "prepossessions"  and  less  fixed  standards,  to  under 
stand  and  appreciate  Whitman  than  for  those  who  have  for  many 
years  been  reading  and  loving  the  "poets  of  culture." 

A  Child's  Question. —  8.  hieroglyphic,  secret  sign.  11.  Kanuck, 
a  Canadian  ;  Tuckahoe,  a  Virginian  (see  the  Standard  dictionary)  ; 
Cuff,  a  miserly  old  fellow.  All  three  are  slang. 

Mannahatta.  —  1.  my  city,  New  York.  2.  the  aboriginal  name. 
The  aboriginal  Delawares  of  New  York  City  were  called  "man- 
hatanis,"  meaning  "  those  who  dwell  upon  an  island."  (New  Inter. 
Enc.)  7.  high  growths,  etc.,  the  "  sky-scrapers."  16-18.  Students 
who  have  visited  New  York  might  check  up  Whitman's  description 
from  their  own  observation.  This  is  the  sort  of  poem  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson  has.  in  mind  when,  in  The  Amateur  Emigrant,  he  speaks 
of  "  all  that  bustle,  courage,  action,  and  constant  kaleidoscopic  change 
that  Walt  Whitman  has  seized  and  set  forth  in  his  vigorous,  cheerful, 
and  loquacious  verses." 


fljp.  308-318]  NOTES  363 

O  'Captain! — Lee  had  surrendered,  the  Union  was  preserved,  but 
Lincoln  had  died  by  the  assassin's  hand. 

When  Lilacs.  —  See  Carpenter's  Whitman  (Eng.  Men  of  Letters}, 
page  105  :  "  .  .  .  strange  and  beautiful  hymn,  in  which  Lincoln's 
name  is  not  mentioned,  nor  is  there  more  than  a  faint  reference  to 
him ;  a  threnody,  therefore,  of  all  that  had  died  in  the  colossal 
struggle,  symbolized  through  him.  A  poem  of  three  themes,  it  sings 
•of  the  lilac  blossoms,  sweet,  and  homely,  and  transient ;  of  the  evening 
•star,  shining  luminous  for  all  men,  but  slowly  sinking  to  its  rest ;  of 
'•the  hermit  thrush,  Nature's  one  foreboding  singer  of  the  wilderness 
-at  twilight.  The  flower  of  the  dooryard  fades  at  the  appointed  time, 
the  star  disappears  according  to  its  season,  the  bird  sings  of  death  as 
<the  '  deliveress '  of  mankind,  for  the  poet's  trust  is  as  strong  as  his 
Jove,  and  he  contemplates  death  with  gratitude  and  with  praise. 
Further  analysis  fails." 

Come,  said  my  Soul.  —  This  poem  appeared  first  'as  a  sort  of 
preface  to  the  1876  edition  of  Leaves  of  Grass.  In  the  edition  of 
1881  it  was  placed  on  the  title-page  and  signed  by  the  author. 

HOLMES. —  The  Height  of  the  Ridiculous. —  16.  Any  one  who 
doesn't  appreciate  the  trifling  jest  may  look  up  "printer's  devil"  in 
the  dictionary. 

The  Last  Leaf.  —  Holmes  did  outlive  most  of  his  close  friends  ;  he 
died  in  1894,  at  the  age  of  85. 

The  Chambered  Nautilus. — This  poem  was  "suggested  by  look 
ing  at  a  section  of  one  of  those  chambered  shells  to  which  is  given 
the  name  of  Pearly  Nautilus.  .  .  .  [Such  a  section]  will  show  you  the 
series  of  enlarging  compartments  successively  dwelt  in  by  the  animal 
that  inhabits  the  shell,  which  is  built  in  a  widening  spiral.  Can  you 
find  no  lesson  in  this  ?  "  —  The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table,  No. 
IV.  The  student  should  look  up  an  illustration  of  the  nautilus  in 
dictionary  or  encyclopedia  in  order  to  get  the  full  meaning  of  the  poem 
on  the  natural  side.  Much  use  must  be  made  of  the  dictionary  —  few 
poems  will  better  repay  detailed  study. 

4.  purpled  wings.  Many  purple  wings  or  arms  are  attached  to 
the  head  of  the  nautilus.  When  alive,  it  can  "fling"  these  out  at 
will.  5.  The  Sirens  were  sea  nymphs  who  by  their  beautiful  sing 
ing  lured  sailors  to  destruction  on  the  rocky  shores  they  inhabited. 

8.  The  webs  of  living  gauze   are  the  "purpled  wings"  of  line  4. 

9.  When  the  animal  dies,  the  shell  is  tossed  about  by  the  sea,  and 


364       ;  NOTES  [pp.  318-328] 

thus  "wrecked."  11-12.  dim  dreaming  life  .  .  .frail  tenant.  These 
expressions  refer  to  the  low  order  of  life  to  which  the  nautilus  be 
longs.  14.  irised,  many-colored.  16.  The  coil  was  lustrous  be 
cause  of  the  "irised  ceiling."  22.  heavenly  message,  given  in  the 
last  stanza.  26.  Triton,  trumpeter  of  Neptune,  god  of  the  sea.  His 
wreathed  horn  was  a  shell.  31.  low-vaulted.  The  nautilus  succes 
sively  dwelt  in  larger  compartments  of  the  spiral,  which  may  be 
thought  of  as  rooms  of  higher  vault  or  ceiling.  Hence,  its  previous 
mansions  might  be  called  "low-vaulted"  by  comparison.  32.  Let 
each  new  temple,  .  .  .  Shut  thee  from  heaven,  i.e.  :  "  Let  each  new 
temple,  the  dome  (or  roof)  of  which  stands  between  thee  and  heaven 
(i.e.,  the  sky),  be  vaster  than  its  predecessor."  Or,  leaving  the  fig 
ure  of  speech:  "Keep  growing,  intellectually  and  spiritually." 

The  Deacon's  Masterpiece.  —  Shay  is  colloquial  for  "chaise,"  a 
light  carriage.  11.  George  II  was  hardly  a  "drone."  He  was  will 
ing  enough  to  work,  but  yielded  the  opportunity  when  he  found  a 
prime  minister  more  capable  than  himself.  German  hive.  The 
House  of  Hanover,  which  still  rules  England,  is  German  in  origin. 
20.  felloe  (also  written  "felly"),  wooden  rim  of  wheel,  thill,  shaft. 
22.  thoroughbrace,  leather  strap  used  as  spring,  or  to  join  C-springs. 
See  line  53.  45.  ellum,  provincial  pronunciation  of  "elm."  92.  en 
core  is  restricted  in  English  to  a  single  use,  where  it  means  "  again." 
Here  it  has,  of  course,  one  of  its  other  French  meanings,  "  besides." 

Parson  TurelVs  Legacy.  —  2.  Legally  Harvard  is  still  only  a 
"college."  5.  Edward  Holyoke  was  president  of  Harvard  from 
1737  to  1769.  64.  ye  is  the  old  abbreviation  for  "  the,"  and  should 
be  so  read,  not  as  if  written  "ye."  Similarly,  yf  was  frequently 
written  for  the  conjunction  "that."  In  the  quotation  Holmes  imi 
tates  the  forms  of  the  seventeenth  century.  69.  An  English  crown 
is  five  shillings  (about  $1.25).  98.  Triennial.  From  1776  to  1875 
Harvard  published  every  three  years  a  catalogue  of  officers  and  gradu 
ates.  Since  1880  the  catalogue  has  appeared  every  five  years  and 
been  called  the  "Quinquennial."  118.  cock-a-hoop,  exultant.  There 
is  an  interesting  discussion  of  this  word  in  the  New  English  (Oxford) 
Dictionary.  147.  Vice-Gub,  Lieutenant-Governor. 

All  Here.  —  Written  for  the  thirty-eighth  anniversary  of  Holmes's 
class  at  Harvard  —  the  famous  class  of  1829.  20.  triennial;  see 
note  on  line  98  of  preceding  poem.  21-22.  In  a  list  of  names,  de 
ceased  persons  are  usually  indicated  by  stars.  24.  The  Boys,  title 
of  Holmes's  poem  for  the  class  reunion  of  1851.  52.  ubique  —  om- 


[pp.  329-337]  NOTES  365 

nes  —  semper,  everywhere  —  all  —  always.  70.  Gracious  Mother,  Har 
vard.  The  translation  of  "Alma  Mater."  72.  In  pace,  in  peace. 

The  Broomstick  Train. —  11.  Essex.'  Salein,  the  scene  of  the 
witchcraft  trials  of  the  seventeenth  century,  is  in  Essex  County. 
So  also  are  Ipswich  Ewer,  Cape  Ann,  Swampscott,  Danvers,  Beverly, 
Wenham.  Wilmington  is  just  over  the  line  in  Middlesex.  Chelsea 
is  a  suburb  of  Boston.  41.  Norman's  Woe,  a  dangerous  reef  near 
Gloucester,  Massachusetts.  See  Longfellow's  The  Wreck  of  the 
Hesperus.  53.  See  line  9.  77  ff.  Recall  the  witch-scenes  in  Mac 
beth,  and  compare  the  lists  of  attendant  spirits  or  "familiars." 
128  ff.  The  broomstick,  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say,  is  the  trolley  ; 
the  careful  man,  the  conductor ;  the  black  cat's  purr,  the  whirr  of 
the  motor ;  the  gleam,  the  spark  made  when  the  trolley  slips  off  the 
wire.  In  Over  the  Teacups,  written  the  same  year  as  this  poem 
(1890),  Holmes  has  a  long  passage  on  this  subject,  beginning  : 
"  Look  here !  There  are  crowds  of  people  whirled  through  our 
streets  on  these  new-fashioned  cars,  with  their  witch-broomsticks 
overhead,  —  if  they  don't  come  from  Salem,  they  ought  to."  The 
first  trolley  line  had  been  started  four  years  before  in  Richmond, 
Virginia. 

Episode  of  the  Pie.  —  10.  cela  va  sans  dire,  that  goes  without  say 
ing.  22.  stillicidium,  the  flowing  of  a  liquid,  drop  by  drop.  27. 
Inferno,  Italian  for  "hell,"  and  the  title  of  the  first  part  of  Dante's 
great  poem,  The  Divine  Comedy.  39.  Benjamin  Franklin  was 
"our  landlady's  youngest."  40.  "  Quoiqu'elle,"  etc.:  Although  it 
is  strongly  made,  this  toy  must  not  be  handled  roughly. 

My  Last  Walk.  —  18.  See  Ruth,  Chapter  II.  40.  single  is  used 
here,  of  course,  in  the  sense  of  "  one."  70.  Common,  a  large  and 
beautiful  park  in  the  heart  of  Boston.  87.  Gingko,  an  Asiatic  tree 
having  fan-shaped  leaves.  Also  spelled  "ginkgo";  the  initial  g  is 
sounded  either  hard  or  soft.  90.  the  old  gentleman  who  sits  oppo 
site,  i.e.,  opposite  the  Autocrat  at  the  boarding-house  table.  He  is 
never  named;  but  in  the  last  chapter  the  Autocrat  "took  the 
schoolmistress  before  the  altar  from  the  hands  of  the  old  gentleman 
who  used  to  sit  opposite."  (Italics  are  the  editor's.) 


INDEX   OF  AUTHORS   AND   TITLES 


Account  of  a  Tempest  —  Strachey, 
4. 

Adventure  with  Opechancanough  — 
Smith,  1. 

All  Here  — Holmes,  327. 

American  Flag,  The  —  Drake,  116. 

Annabel  Lee  —  Poe,  147. 

Anonymous  Revolutionary  Songs, 
56. 

Anti-Slavery  Mission,  An  — Wool- 
man,  49. 

Apology,  The  —  Emerson,  192. 

Ariel  and  the  Alacrity,  Fight  of— 
Cooper,  103. 

Aspects  of  the  Pines  —  Hayne,  136. 

Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table, 
The  — Holmes,  333. 

Axe  and  the  Pine,  The  — Hayne,  136. 

BARLOW,  JOEL,  61-62. 

Battle  of  the  Kegs,  The  —  Hopkin- 
son,  53. 

Bay  Psalm  Book,  The,  9. 

Beauregard's  Appeal  — Hayne,  133. 

Beleaguered  City,  The  —  Longfel 
low,  204. 

Birds  of  Killingworth,  The  —  Long 
fellow,  224. 

Bixby,  Mrs.,  Letter  to  —  Lincoln,  128. 

BRADFORD,  WILLIAM,  15-17. 

BRADSTREET,  ANNE,  12-15. 

Broomstick  Train,  The  — Holmes, 
329. 

BROWN,  CHARLES  BROCKDEN,  66-68. 

BRYANT,  WILLIAM  CULLEN,  90-102. 


CALHOUN,  JOHN    CALDWELL,  118- 
120. 


367 


Calhoun's  Resolutions,  On  the  Lan 
guage  of—  Webster,  120. 
Causes  of  the  American  Discontents 

—  Franklin,  27. 
Celia,  To  —  Godfrey,  63. 
Chambered  Nautilus,  The  —  Holmes, 

318. 
Character   of    Governor   Bradford 

—  Mather,  19. 

Character  of  Peter  Stuyvesant — Ir 
ving,  72. 

Chattahoochee,  Song  of  the — Lanier, 
271. 

Cherokee  Indian,  Death  Song  of  a 

—  Freneau,  71. 

Child's     Question,    A  —  Whitman, 

306. 

Chloris,  For  — Godfrey,  63. 
Columbia  —  Dwight,  58. 
Columbus,  The  Vision  of  (extract)  — 

Barlow,  61. 

Come,  said  my  Soul  —  Whitman,  315. 
Coming  of  the  Birds,  The  —  Thoreau, 

200. 
Commemoration    Ode    (extracts)  — 

Lowell,  240. 

Concord  Hymn  — Emerson,  192. 
Constitution  Not  a   Compact,    The 

(extract)  —Webster,  120. 
Contemplations  —  Bradstreet,  12. 
COOPER,  JAMES  FENIMORE,  103-111. 
Crane,    Hanging  of  the  — Longfel 
low,  231. 

Crisis,  The  (extract)  —  Paine,  40. 
Cross  of  Snow,    The  —  Longfellow, 

237. 

Cry  to  Arms,  A  —  Timrod,  129. 
CURTIS,  GEORGE  WILLIAM,  284-291. 


368 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS  AND  TITLES 


Day  of  Doom,  The  (extract)  —  Wig- 
glesworth,  9. 

Deacon's  Masterpiece,  The  — 
Holmes,  319. 

Death  of  the  Flowers,  The  —  Bryant, 
97. 

Death  Song  of  a  Cherokee  Indian  — 
Freneau,  71. 

Democracy  (extract)  —  Lowell,  263. 

Devil  and  Tom  Walker,  The  —  lv- 
ving,  75. 

Dogood  Papers  (selection)  —  Frank 
lin,  24. 

Dogood,  Silence,  On  Drunkenness  — 
Franklin,  24. 

DRAKE,  JOSEPH  RODMAN,  116-117. 

Drake,  On  the  Death  of—  Halleck, 
112. 

Drowne's  Wooden  Image — Haw 
thorne,  172. 

DWIGHT,  TIMOTHY,  58-59. 

Edict  by  the  King  of  Prussia,  An 
(abridged)— Franklin,  31. 

EDWARDS,  JONATHAN,  21-24. 

Elm,  Under  the  Old  (extracts)  — 
Lowell,  248. 

Emancipation  from  British  Depen 
dence  (A  Political  Litany) — Fre 
neau,  68. 

EMERSON,  RALPH  WALDO,  191-200. 

Emerson  the  Lecturer  (extract)  — 
Lowell,  252. 

Episode  of  the  Pie  —  Holmes,  333. 

Eutaw  Springs  —  Freneau,  69. 

Federalist,  The  (selection)  —Hamil 
ton,  46. 

First  Inaugural  (extract)  —  Wash 
ington,  42. 

First  Inaugural  (extract)—  Lin 
coln,  127. 

Flower-life  —  Timrod,  131. 

Forest  Hymn,  A  —  Bryant,  93. 

Forgotten  —  Hayne,  134. 

FRANKLIN,  BENJAMIN,  24-36. 

Freedom,  Stanzas  on  —  Lowell,  239. 

FRENEAU,  PHILIP,  68-72. 


Fringed  Gentian,  To  the  —  Bryant, 


Garrison,  To  William  Lloyd— "Whit- 
tier,  291. 

Gettysburg  Address  —  Lincoln ,  127. 

Gladness  of  Nature,  The  —  Bryant, 
98. 

GODFREY,  THOMAS,  63-66. 

GRADY,  HENRY  WOODFIN,  272-283. 

HALLECK,  FITZ-GREENE,  112-115. 
HAMILTON,  ALEXANDER,  46-49. 
Hanging  of  the  Crane  —  Longfellow, 

231. 

Haunted  Palace,  The  —  Poe,  140. 
HAWTHORNE,      NATHANIEL,     159- 

186. 

HAYNE,  PAUL  HAMILTON,  133-137. 
Height    of   the    Ridiculous,    The  — 

Holmes,  315. 
HENRY,  PATRICK,  36-38. 
Hiawatha's     Wooing  —  Longfellow, 

216. 
History  of  New  England  (extract) 

—  Winthrop,  17. 
HOLMES,   OLIVER   WENDELL,   315- 

337. 
Honey  Suckle,  The  Wild  —  Freneau, 

70. 

HOPKINSON,  FRANCIS,  53-56. 
Humble-Bee,  The—  Emerson,  193. 
Hurricane,  The  —  Bryant,  101. 

Ichabod  —  Whittier,  293. 

In  School-Days  —  Whittier,  302. 

Ireson's    Ride,  Skipper  —  Whittier, 

295. 

IRVING,  WASHINGTON,  72-90. 
Israfel  —  Poe,  138. 

JEFFERSON,  THOMAS,  44-46. 
Journal  (extract) — Woolman,  49. 
Judgment     of    Infants  —  Wiggles- 
worth,  9. 

Killingworth,  Birds  of,  The—  Long 
fellow,  224. 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS  AND  TITLES 


369 


Knickerbocker's  History  (extract) 
—  Irving,  72. 

LANIER,  SIDNEY,  269-272.  • 

Last  Walk  with  the  Schoolmistress, 
My  —  Holmes,  335. 

Laus  Deo  —  Whittier,  300. 

Liberty  or  Death  — Henry,  36. 

Liberty,  The  "  Little  Speech  "on  — 
Winthrop,  17. 

Life  at  Merry  Mount  —  Bradford,  15. 

LINCOLN,  ABRAHAM,  125-129. 

Litany,  A  Political  —  Freneau,  68. 

LONGFELLOW,  HENRY  WADS- 
WORTH,  204-238. 

Lost  Occasion,  The  —  Whittier,  303. 

Love,  My  —  Lowell,  238. 

LOWELL,  JAMES  RUSSELL,  238-269. 

Magnalia  (extract)  —  Mather,  19. 

Magnolia  Cemetery,  Ode  at  —  Tim- 
rod,  .130. 

Maimed  Nature  —  Thoreau,  202. 

Mannahatta  —  Whitman,  307. 

Marco  Bozzaris  —  Halleck,  112. 

MATHER,  COTTON,  19-21. 

Maypole  of  Merry  mount,  The  —  Haw 
thorne,  159. 

May  to  April  —  Freneau,  72. 

McFingal  (extracts)  — Trumbull,  59. 

Morella  —  Poe,  149. 

Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse  (selec 
tion)  —  Hawthorne,  172. 

MOTLEY,  JOHN  LOTHROP,  187-191. 

My  Garden  Acquaintance  (extract) 
—Lowell,  258. 

Myself,  Song  of  (extract) —Whit 
man,  306. 

My  Springs  —  Lanier,  269. 

Mysterious  Voice,  A  —  Brown,  66. 

Nature  of  Government,  The  —  Em 
erson,  196. 

Nautilus,  The  Chambered  — 
Holmes,  318. 

New  South,  7%e  — Grady,  272. 

Nullification,  On  (extract^  —  Cal- 
houn,  118. 


0  Captain!  my  Captain!—  Whit 
man,  308. 

Old  Arm-Chair,  the  President's  — 
Holmes,  322. 

Old  Elm,  under  the  — Lowell,  248. 

One-hoss  Shay,  Holmes,  319. 

OTIS,  JAMES,  38-40. 

PAINE,  THOMAS,  40-42. 
Party  Spirit,  Evils  of—  Curtis,  286. 
Paul  Jones  —  Anonymous,  56. 
Pilot,  The  (extract)  —  Cooper,  103. 
Pines,  Aspects  of  the  —  Hayne,  136. 
Pine,    The   Axe   and  the  —  Hayne, 

136. 

Playmate,  My  —  Whittier,  298. 
Plymouth   Plantation,    History  of 

(extract)  —  Bradford,  15. 
POE,  EDGAR  ALLAN,  137-158. 
Poets  —  Hayne,  137. 
Political  Litany,  A  —  Freneau,  68. 
Politics  (extract)  —  Emerson,  196. 
Prince   of   Parthia,  The   (extract) 

—  Godfrey,  64. 
Proem— Whittier,  292. 
Prue  and  I  (extract)  —Curtis,  284. 
Psalm,     The     Twenty-third  —  Bay 

Psalm  Book,  9. 
Public  Duty  of  Educated  Men,  The 

(extract)  —Curtis,  286. 

Raven,  The  —  Poe,  141. 
Rhodora,  The  — Emerson,  191. 
Riflemen's   Song  at  Bennington — 

Anonymous,  57. 
Rise    of  the  Dutch  Republic,    Thu 

(extract)  —  Motley,  187. 
Robert  of  Lincoln  —  Bryant,  99. 

School-Days,  In  — Whittier,  302. 
Shortest  Speech —  Lincoln,  127. 
Short-story,  The  —  Poe,  155. 
Showing  his  Hand  —  Lincoln,  125. 
Sinners  in  the  Hands  of  an  Angry 

God  (extracts)  —Edwards,  21. 
Skipper   Ireson's    Ride  —  Whittier, 

295. 
SMITH,  JOHN,  1-4. 


370 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS  AND  TITLES 


Speech    on   Leaving    Springfield  — 

Lincoln,  126. 

Spring  (extracts)  —  Thoreau,  200. 
STBACHEY,  WILLIAM,  4-8. 
Summary  View  of   the    Rights  of 

British    America,   A  —  Jefferson, 

44. 

Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn  (selection) 

—  Longfellow,  224. 
Terminus  —  Emerson,  195. 
Thanatopsis  —  Bryant,  90. 
THOREAU,  HENRY  DAVID,  200-203. 
Times  that  Try  Men's  Souls  —  Paine, 

40. 

TIMROD,  HENRY,  129-133. 
Traveling,    Advantages    of    Not  — 

Curtis,  284. 
True  Relation,  A  (extract)  —  Smith, 

1. 

TRUMBULL,  JOHN,  59-61. 
Turell's  Legacy,  Parson  —  Holmes, 

322. 
Twenty-third   Psalm  —  Bay    Psalm 

Book,  9. 

Twice  Told  Tales  (selection)  —  Haw 
thorne,  159. 

Ulalume  —  Poe,  145. 


Under  the  Old  Elm  (extracts)  — 
Lowell,  248. 

Union  as  a  Safeguard,  The  —  Ham 
ilton,  46. 

Union,  Real  Character  of  the  —  Cal- 
houn,  118. 

WASHINGTON,  GEORGE,  42-44. 
Waterfowl,  To  a  —  Bryant,  92. 
Wayside  Inn,  Tales  of  a  (selection) 

—  Longfellow,  224. 
WEBSTER,  DANIEL,  120-125. 
When  Lilacs  Last  in  the  Dooryard 

Bloom'd     (extracts)  —  Whitman, 

309. 

Whistle,  The  —  Franklin,  34. 
White's  "  Selborne"—  Lowell,  258. 
WHITMAN,  WALT,  306-315. 
WHITTIER,  JOHN  GREENLEAF,  291- 

305. 

Why  Silent?  —  Timrod,  132. 
Wieland  (extract)  —Brown,  66. 

WlGGLESWORTH,  MlCHAEL,  9-12. 

William  the  Silent,  Tour  of—  Mot 
ley,  187. 

WINTHROP,  JOHN,  17-19. 
WOOLMAN,  JOHN,  49-53. 
Writs  of  Assistance,  On  the  —  Otis, 


INDEX  OF   FIRST  LINES   OF   POEMS 


All  day,  on  bole  and  limb  the  axes 
ring,  136. 

A  song  unto  Liberty's  brave  Buc 
caneer,  56. 

As  unto  the  bow  the  cord  is,  216. 

At  Eutaw  Springs  the  valiant  died, 
69. 

At  midnight,  in  his  guarded  tent, 
112. 

Build  me  straight,  O  worthy  Master, 

205. 

Burly,  dozing  humble-bee,  193. 
By  the  rude  bridge  that  arched  the 

flood,  192. 

Champion  of  those  who  groan  be 
neath,  291. 

Columbia,  Columbia,  to  glory  arise, 
58. 

Come,  said  my  soul,  315. 

Facts  respecting  an  old  arm-chair, 

322. 
Fair    flower,   that    dost  so  comely 

grow,  70. 
For  Chloris  long  I  sigh'd  in  vain, 

63. 
Forgotten!    Can  it  be  a  few  swift 

rounds,  134. 

Gallants  attend  and  hear  a  friend, 

53. 
Green  be  the  turf  above  thee,  112. 

Have  you  heard  of  the  wonderful 

one-boss  shay,  319. 
Helen,  thy  beauty  is  to  me,  137. 
Ho !  woodsmen  of  the  mountain  side, 

129. 


I  have  read,  in  some  old,  marvelloiis 

tale,  204. 

I  love  the  old  melodious  lays,  292. 
In  Heaven  a  spirit  doth  dwell,  138. 
In  May,  when  sea-winds  pierced  our 

solitudes,  191. 

In  the  greenest  of  our  valleys,  140. 
In  the  heart  of  the  Hills  of  Life,  I 

know,  269. 
In  the  long,  sleepless  watches  of  the 

night,  237. 

I  saw  him  once  before,  316. 
Is  this  a  time  to  be  cloudy  and  sad, 

98. 
I  think  that,  next  to  your  sweet  eyes, 

131. 

It  is  done,  300. 
It   is   not    what   we    say   or    sing, 

327. 

It  is  time  to  be  old,  195. 
It  was  many  and  many  a  year  ago, 

147. 
It  was  the  season  when  through  all 

the  land,  224. 
I  was  asking  for  something  specific 

and  perfect  for  my  city,  307. 
I  wrote  some  lines  once  on  a  time, 

315. 

Libera  nos,  Domine,  Deliver  us,  O 

Lord,  68. 
Look  out !  Look  out,  boys !  clear  the 

track,  329. 
Lord  of  the  winds!  I  feel  thee  nigh, 

101. 

Men!    whose  boast    it  is  that    ye, 

239. 
Merrily  swinging  on  brier  and  weed, 

99. 


371 


372         INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES  OF  POEMS 


Not  as  all  other  women  are,  238. 

O  Captain!  my  Captain!  our  fear 
ful  trip  is  done,  308. 

Of  all  the  rides  since  the  birth  of 
time,  295. 

Once  upon  a  midnight  dreary,  141. 

Out  of  the  hills  of  Habersham,  271. 

Sleep  sweetly  in  your  humble  graves, 
130. 

So  fallen!  so  lost!  the  light  with 
drawn,  293. 

Some  die  too  late  and  some  too  soon, 
303. 

Some  thunder  on  the  heights  of  song, 
their  race,  137. 

Some  time  now  past  in  the  Autum 
nal  Tide,  12, 

Still  sits  the  school-house  by  the 
road,  302. 

Tall,  sombre,  grim  against  the  morn 
ing  sky,  136. 

The  groves  were  God's  first  temples, 
93. 

The  lights  are  out,  and  gone  are  all 
the  guests,  231. 

The  Lord  to  mee  a  shepheard  is,  9. 


The  melancholy  days  are  come,  97. 
The  pines  were  dark  on  Ramoth  hill, 

298. 
The  skies  they  were  ashen  and  sober, 

145. 
The  sun  sets  in  night,  and  the  stars 

shun  the  day,  71. 
Think   me  not    unkind    and    rude, 

192. 
This  is  the  ship  of  pearl,  which,  poets 

feign,  318. 
Thou  blossom  bright  with  autumn 

dew,  98. 
To  him  who  in  the  love  of  Nature 

holds,  90. 

When  Freedom  from  her  mountain 

height,  116. 

When  in  Celia's  heavenly  eye,  63. 
When  lilacs  last  in   the    dooryard 

bloom'd,  309. 

Whither,  midst  falling  dew,  92. 
Why  am  I  silent  from  year  to  year, 

132. 

Why  come  ye  hither,  stranger,  57. 
Without  your  showers  I  breed  no 

flowers,  72. 

Yea !  since  the  need  is  bitter,  133. 


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